When Worlds Collide
by mezvg
Summary: Many years after the death of the Black King, Alagaësia faces an even greater threat, one that originates from a land unheard of in this world. When confronted with challenges that no Alagaësian hero has ever faced in the history of time, can Eragon Shadeslayer, Saphira Brightscales, and their friends still come out victorious? Or will the clash of these two realities destroy them?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

"YES! YES, I'VE DONE IT! AHAHAHA!"

Nasuada's head snapped up in surprise, as the echoing shout emanating from the hallway diverted her attention from the papers strewn across her large, circular table. Her advisors were likewise startled, and throughout the room brows furrowed and heads swiveled towards the doorway in confusion.

Taking advantage in the momentary lull in the discussion, the Queen leaned back in her chair and allowed her eyes to roam the ornate meeting hall in which her and her advisors conducted their daily gatherings. As always, the sheer display of wealth put on by the previous owner of the mansion, some noble of Galbatorix's court, both impressed and disgusted her. The room was long and rectangular, with four large marble pillars in each of the four corners. It had dark floorboards of polished oak along with a ceiling holding the weight of a massive crystal chandelier. Yet what grabbed her attention were not the towering pillars or the baroque light fixture, but rather the vast number of overelaborate wall ornaments. Heads of animals, shelves covered with expensive pottery and small sculptures, decorative weapons, and paintings framed in borders of gold and jewels adorned the room without order or structure. The walls themselves could in a way be considered works of art, testaments to rampant human greed and unrestrained desire. It had been years since she first took up residence in the building, and somehow she still managed to find beautifications on the walls of the hall that she had never laid eyes on before. With effort, she drew her eyes away and directed them to her door, just as Thalamir burst into the room, with stacks of papers in his arms and a wide grin plastered across his face.

Thalamir was the head magician of Varda abr Vanyali, the group of magicians Nasuada had assembled to keep order and lawfulness in regards to magic throughout the Empire. A formidably powerful magician, Thalamir's greatest passion, second only to managing and leading Varda abr Vanyali, was exploring and experimenting with various aspects of magic. His long, brown hair hung in unkempt curls down to his shoulders, and often obscured his eyes, one brown and one purple (the result of some magical test gone awry). Standing well over six feet, he would have cut an imposing figure if not for his ever present smile, which he maintained, oddly enough, even in the midst of a duel with an enemy magician. None would deny that Thalamir was a good man and undoubtedly a genius beyond comprehension, but his hours of seclusion dedicated to his research have left him ever so slightly off kilter in the eyes of many.

"Nasuada! Oh Nasuada, I had my doubts, I admit, and at times I even contemplated abandoning the project altogether! But my efforts have, against all odds, finally paid off!" He cried, visibly ecstatic about whatever it was he was speaking of.

Nasuada suppressed the urge to laugh at his boyish enthusiasm, and commanded, "Speak clearly, Thalamir. I am afraid you are making little sense…"

Releasing a mirthful chuckle, he replied, "Ah, of course! I have yet to explain the greatest of all my experiments to you, yes? Please accept my apologies, it slipped my mind. Now, allow me to waste no more time! Here, come close and I will show you what I have—"

He stopped abruptly and, looking around the room, seemed to be just coming to the realization that they were not alone. Nasuada's advisors were staring at Thalamir, clearly not pleased with the interruption.

Nasuada waved her hand at them, "Leave us; we will continue this at a later time."

With some quiet grumbles of discontent, they all bowed and exited the door at the far side of the hall. As soon as the last advisor filed through the doorway, Nasuada smiled at Thalamir, saying, "I am sorry, as you were saying?"

Nodding his thanks, he continued, "Yes, if you would join me over here," as he brushed her papers unceremoniously to the ground, quickly replacing them with his own, "I can show you what I have found!"

Gathering the folds of her dress, Nasuada stood and made her way over to where Thalamir was standing. As she walked, she tried to imagine what he could have possibly come up with this time. It was no secret that Thalamir was incredibly proud of his discoveries, and often times claimed that they were the greatest innovations in the history of Alagaësia.

A few years back, a rouge magician broke into the Lord of Beltona's castle and took him captive. He placed magical traps across all entrances and exits, and demanded a large sum of money and safe passage to wherever he pleased in exchange for the Lord's life. When Thalamir and Varda abr Vanyali arrived and negotiations through scrying mirrors began, Thalamir insisted on questioning the magician about a number of obscure theories and spells that he needed to embark on his latest experiment. He even required that the magician turn over his entire collection of magical texts to Thalamir as part of the bargain. The rebel magic user refused, and as Thalamir persisted, tensions rose to the point where the magician was screaming that he would kill the Lord if he did not get what he called for. Only when Thalamir offered a larger sum of money did the magician finally relent, and wrote the location on a piece of parchment, slipping it into the Lord's pocket. At that, Thalamir thanked the man for his cooperation, and then proceeded to mutter a brief phrase in the Ancient Language, at which point everyone in the room watched through the mirror as the man instantly went rigid as a board and toppled over. Thalamir calmly chose two of his deputies and, smiling while he did it, ordered them to go fetch the man, bind him and gag him, and ensure that the Lord and the other inhabitants of the castle were unharmed. One of the younger members of Varda abr Vanyali managed to stutter, "H-how on earth did you do that?" To which Thalamir laughed and replied, "It was simple, really!" before jumping into a mind-bogglingly complex explanation that not a single person understood, save Thalamir himself. Oblivious to the confusion surrounding him, he instructed his puzzled subordinates to quit their dallying and fetch him the location of the library, so that he may begin his newest investigation at once. It was, as he claimed, "Of the utmost importance!"

"Nasuada, are you listening?"

She blinked as her mind shifted back to the present. Thalamir stared at her with a questioning expression. Nasuada sighed, "Do excuse me, Thalamir; I have not heard a word you have said. Though it is not due to a lack of interest, I assure you! I am simply tired. If you could start again, please?"

Slightly irritated, but still displaying a toothy grin, Thalamir offered, "Perhaps an analogy? Clearly my explanations are not adequate. As I was saying, contrary to popular belief, Alagaësia is not all there is!"

As he picked up a paper covered in illegible scrawl, Nasuada frowned and said, "Well yes, we know there are lands beyond Alagaësia, which is no new discovery…"

His smile widened as he thrust his pointer finger in the air and exclaimed, "Ah, but did you know that there is more than those as well? I speak of lands from another world."

"Another…world? I am afraid I do not understand," Nasuada replied, confused.

Thalamir held up the paper he had selected. "Use your imagination, Nasuada," He urged, "and pretend for a moment that this paper represents all of Alagaësia. But not just that! Imagine that it symbolizes the land with the home of the Riders to the east, the homeland of the elves across the sea to the west, as well as any other lands beyond the Beor Mountains, Du Weldenvarden, and any other place unspoken of. Let us make-believe that this parchment embodies everything that there is. Can you do that?"

The concept was overwhelming. _Everything that is? Both known and unknown? _Nasuada struggled to wrap her mind around the idea. After a moment of closing her eyes, she nodded to him. Thalamir nodded in response, and then murmured something under his breath. When the paper was released, it hung suspended in the air. Thalamir turned to grab another page, his voice muffling as he turned away from her, "Now, this may seem strange to you, but I guarantee you, this is the truth."

As he turned around, now holding countless papers, he began to suspend them all in the air, one after the other. When he was finished, the papers floated in a straight line, with the front of one page less than an inch from the back of the next.

He pointed to the paper representing all of existence, and asked, "This is Alagaësia, correct?"

She nodded in agreement, and he paused before saying, "What if I were to tell you that this," he pointed at another paper, "and this," as he moved his index finger to another paper in the line, "were each their own…everything? That each one of these papers has lands, peoples, kingdoms, plants and animals, ideas, and knowledge, all totally unique and independent of one another?!"

Thalamir was literally jumping up and down with excitement, his huge, beaming grin nearly splitting his face in two. Not that Nasuada noticed, as her eyes unfocused and her chest felt as though someone had struck it. As she struggled to stay upright, she kept thinking, _It's not possible…it can't be possible…could it?_ Grabbing the table's edge, she steadied herself. "Prove that what you claim to be true is, in fact, the truth. If you cannot, I refuse to believe you, Thalamir."

His smile grew even wider as he laughed, "I would never make such a claim without proof, my Queen! It would be my honor to show you evidence of my discovery."

His eyes searched the walls until he found what he was looking for, and he ran over to retrieve a large silver mirror, edged with an elegant design inlaid with large rubies. Bringing it back to the table, he laid it down, closed his eyes, and cast a long and complex spell. The surface of the mirror shimmered, as an image appeared. At first, Nasuada could not make sense of what she was seeing. Then, slowly, she began to decipher the elements of the picture. There were people, humans, walking around. However, they were not like any humans she had ever seen before. Their cloths were very strange, with shapes and colors unlike anything in all of Alagaësia. The women mostly wore leggings, along with odd-looking shoes on their feet. The tunics of the males were unusual and often ended halfway between the elbow and the shoulder. Many of the people walking held one hand to cover their ear, as though they were injured, but showed no signs of distress. The structures around them stretched far into the sky, taller than the tallest of trees in Du Weldenvarden, and things blurred by the walking people, moving so fast it was hard to discern any sort of form or structure. Overall, the place and its inhabitants struck Nasuada as outlandish and alien, and she had to suppress a shudder as she turned away from the mirror. _This should not be_, she thought. To Thalamir, she said, "Stop. Get rid of it, now."

He gave her a look, and then complied, and the strange image faded away. She took a deep breath to try and calm her shaking hands. "Thalamir," she started, "as…interesting as this thing you have found may be, how it of any use to anyone? I highly doubt that most people would even begin to understand this concept."

Thalamir's smile swelled to an impossible size as he strode over to the line of papers hanging in the air. "It will be of use, my Lady, because I have finally discovered how to do this…"

As he held her eyes with his, he raised his thumb and index fingers up to two of the pages, and ever so gently, he pinched them together. A single point on each paper was in contact with the other, held there by this hand.

"A bridge, Nasuada. I can make a bridge."

In spite of Thalamir's blatant enthusiasm, Nasuada was already shaking her head. If asked why, she would not be able to explain it in words, but deep down, she knew that those pages were separate for a reason. The idea of them touching, mixing, contaminating one another filled her with dread. If that were to happen…no, she would not allow it. "No."

For the first time in her entire memory, Thalamir's smile faded away. He stared at her, stunned and dumbfounded. "What?" he asked.

She took a deep breath, and repeated herself, "I said—"

At that moment, two people barged into the hall and bent over, panting from exertion. Nasuada recognized them as two of the senior members of Varda abr Vanyali. One of them struggled to compose himself, and gasped, "Master, it is an emergency! Several magicians are attacking the Imperial Army's barracks in western Ilirea! Come quickly!"

Thalamir looked at them, and then back at Nasuada. He smiled faintly, "I will send for you later this week, Queen Nasuada. Perhaps I might change your mind."

He then turned and rushed out the door with the members of Varda abr Vanyali, leaving Nasuada wondering on how she could possibly politely refuse a man the chance to fulfill countless years of work and effort, based on nothing but her instincts.

**Disclaimer**: Not entirely sure why this is necessary…I would've figured its fairly obvious that I don't own the source material, considering it is fan fiction…But anyways, just to make sure everyone knows, I DO NOT own the Inheritance Cycle, it belongs to Christopher Paolini. There you go.

**Author's Note**: This is my first time ever writing a story of any kind, so please cut me a _tiny_ bit of slack? I'll do my best, but considering my lack of experience in translating this AWESOME idea I have in my head into readable words for everyone to see, this may turn out good, and it may not…I welcome constructive criticism, though, so don't be afraid to help me improve! Also, if you notice any OOC-ness going on, please let me know. I always hate it when someone really messes up a character that I like, but now that I'm actually writing the story, it's much harder to tell if I got it right or not! Stay tuned for more!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

_**KATHOOM!**_

The entire cabin reverberated with the massive force of the blast, vibrating and shaking so hard that Corporal Balthazar Adams was sure at any moment it would fall into pieces. As things began to steady, a muffled voice rang out over the intercom, "Whoa that was a close one! Make sure y'all are secured real good back there, ya hear?"

Balthazar squeezed his already closed eyes shut and tightened his harness for the twentieth time in the past hour. Heights were most certainly not his thing.

"Hey, Zar, you alright? You're looking a bit green!"

After inhaling through his nose and expelling the breath out his mouth, Balthazar forced his mind to ignore the constant, violent tremors of the flimsy-looking plane he sat in, and with no small amount of effort, commanded his eyes to open. Looking at the relatively thin bars of metal and exposed fuselage that surrounded the two rows of soldiers did little to reinstall his confidence.

Turning his head, he looked down the row opposite himself and spotted the glaringly white grin of Private First Class Tolbert Josaphat. Balthazar narrowed his eyes at him and, slowly and deliberately, drew two fingers across his neck before pointing them straight at Josaphat.

TJ, as he preferred, was always able to joke around, even in the most serious of situations. As annoying as it was at times, and if questioned Zar would never admit it, but in reality Balthazar was often grateful for Tolbert's ability to soothe his nerves with lighthearted comments.

The only thing Zar and TJ had in common was their six foot tall statures, and in everything else TJ topped him. With his alluring sea green eyes, dirty blonde hair cut in a "high and tight" style, plenty of toned muscles in all the right places, full lips, angular cheekbones, and a strong jawline, TJ was miles head of Balthazar in the handsome department.

Zar himself was not bad looking, but nor was he going to turn heads as he walked down the street. His pitch black hair styled in a flat top and his thick, dark eyebrows shadowing his chocolate brown eyes could not compete with TJ's stunning perfection, and when Balthazar's triangular face and lanky build were taken into account, there was simply no contest.

When a mischievous glint entered Josaphat's eye, Balthazar inwardly sighed as he realized TJ intended to turn the simple joke into a comical scene. TJ leaned back in mock horror before turning to Specialist Owen Elbridge beside him and gasping, "Dear god, Owen, did you see that?! My own team leader is going to kill me!"

Luckily for Zar, Elbridge simply rolled his eyes and shook his head, then without a word swung his hand up to smack Tolbert on the back of his head.

"Ouch!" TJ cried, grimacing in pain from the violent blow. At that, the ghost of a smile crept onto Owen's normally stoic face.

Owen was quite the opposite of TJ in terms of personality. Whereas Tolbert loved to be loud and joke around, Elbridge equally loved silence and seriousness. His emotionless mask was emphasized even further by his very ordinary face. Simple and regular, Owen's only defining facial characteristic was a faded but visible diagonal scar across his lips, which he never spoke of and no one asked about. He wore his light brown hair in the usual military buzz cut, stood at the average height of five feet and seven inches, and was neither skinny nor excessively muscled. Yet Owen's uncanny normalcy was also his greatest strength, as he was by far the squad's most effective scout. Balthazar was overwhelmingly glad to have him on the Kekoa 32 Fire team with him and TJ.

"Finally! I've been waiting to do that to TJ for years! Go on, hit him again for me Owen," laughed Lance Corporal Aileen Shelomith, as Elbridge proceeded to comply with her request, eliciting another shout of discomfort from Tolbert.

Turning his eyes away from his two friends, Zar directed his attention to the beautiful woman sitting at the other end of the plane, on the same side as TJ and Owen. He grinned, unable to control himself, as she smiled and winked at him, ever so subtly.

To Balthazar, and undoubtedly to many others as well, Aileen was the epitome of beauty. Her fiery red hair demanded attention, despite its shorter cut, and accentuated her brilliant blue eyes and pale skin. With her athletic build and tall height, it would come as a surprise to many that every male member of the squad wasn't doing everything in their power to catch her eye.

As most found out on their very first day knowing Aileen, she didn't respond well to smooth words and lustful looks. She was brave and ruthless, almost to the point of reckless abandon. Whether it was through arm wrestling, fist fighting, shot drinking, shooting competitions, or protecting and saving her squad members countless times in battle, Aileen quickly earned their respect, and they were able to view her as the warrior she was. Yet somehow, for reasons she had yet to explain to him, Aileen had chosen Zar. He had never expected them to ever move beyond the "friend" stage in their relationship, but by some alignment of the stars, she ended up falling for him. Well aware of how incredibly lucky he was, he never passed up a chance to let her know. However, considering the potential damage to moral and camaraderie in the unit, as well as claims of favoritism since she was his second in command, they had decided to keep it a secret from everyone but their team members, TJ and Owen.

Quickly glancing around to make sure everyone's attention was still on the shoving contest between Owen and Tolbert, Zar proceeded to lean forward in his seat and blew her a kiss. Even from a distance of six or seven seats away, Balthazar was still able to catch her blush.

The merriment in the cabin left Balthazar completely unprepared for the earth-shattering boom that scrambled his thoughts and punched out his eardrums, as the accompanying shockwave exploded light bulbs, ripped forth screams of terror from battle-hardened veterans, and tossed the plane about so violently that Balthazar could not tell up from down or left from right. It was as if some angry god had reached down from heaven, snatched them out of the air, and shook them about with the force of a thousand giants.

This went on for what felt like years upon years upon an eternity before they were released, and Zar's stomach hit the ceiling as they plummeted to the unforgiving ground below. Balthazar shrieked and cried out, stopping only for a gasping breath to expel in another throat-numbing yell, regardless of the logical part of him that knew no one could hear him scream.

Then, when Balthazar knew with every fiber of his being that this was the end, that he would die here in this dark metal coffin, his stomach began to miraculously descend from its position plastered to the ceiling, and his body was thrown towards the back of the plane as it began to pull out of its dive of doom.

The intercom of the crippled vessel crackled and popped as the barely audible voice of the pilot whispered, "Ugh… *cough* Copilot Murphy is dead…I'm injured…but we've made it to the drop zone. Squad leader, get these soldiers off this plane…I need to attempt a…landing."

With his ears ringing, Zar only heard bits and pieces of the parting message, but he knew that there was no way anyone could land this plane safely. Ignoring his shaking muscles and throbbing skull, he slowly brought the edge of his flattened hand to his brow, saluting the pilot.

The rear of the plane screeched and squealed as the damaged doors were forced open, letting in roaring winds that once again removed any semblance of sound other than a deafening howl.

A testament to his character and leadership, Sergeant Pono Inouye threw off his buckles, got to his feet, and made his way to the back of the cabin, holding onto the metal interior of the plane. Standing at the edge of the gaping hole, he began to shout out Fire teams, and everyone watched his lips to determine when to get up and make the jump.

When Zar saw only Elbridge, Shelomith and Josaphat left, he turned his head against the raging force of the wind and squinted at the Sergeant in time to see him mouth, _Kekoa 32!,_ before a particularly strong gust knocked Inouye off his feet. His fingers slipped from the metal beam he was holding, and the Sergeant was promptly sucked from the plane out into oblivion.

Steeling his nerves, Corporal Balthazar Adams unbuckled himself, gestured with his hand at his fellow Fire team members and shouting a, "_Come on!" _which he was certain not a single person heard, not even himself. Fighting the powerful air currents, Zar took the lead, standing up and, against every instinct, jumping towards the window into the starry, explosion-speckled night sky.

Then he was falling.

_Falling._

Balthazar opened his lips to scream again, when the air that forced its way into his mouth and billowed out his cheeks to the point where they felt as though they would tear off forced him to squeeze his lips shut once again. His heart was beating so hard he expected it to burst forth from his chest, and his fingers and toes began to tingle and lose feeling. _Calm down,_ he thought, determined to dominate his phobia, _I need to calm down_. After he managed a few deep breaths through his nose, he checked his altimeter, and saw he was well within the deploying range. He quickly fumbled with the controls before he found the correct mechanism. Pulling it, he heard a faint rustling as the parachute was released, and then felt a sharp jolt upwards as it filled with air.

Releasing the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, Balthazar ran his hands over his face, his body racked with shivers, as he realized he had just jumped from a crashing plane thousands of feet above the ground. _I'm going to live_, he thought, as he exhaled a shuddering breath.

Moments later, he touched down on the ground, and he released the parachute, instantly sprinting out of the clearing where he had landed towards the tree line a quarter mile away from him. As he ran, taking immense pleasure in the impact of his combat boots on solid, unmoving earth, he checked his equipment. With everything in working order, he unslung his M4 Carbine from his back and brought it up to his shoulder as he made it to the edge of the forest. Clearing the immediate area, he lowered his weapon, and consulted his mental image of the map he saw at the briefing. _The city should be north of the drop zone, so if I just head—_

His train of thought derailed as a hand grabbed his pack and pulled his upper body backwards while a leg swept his out from under him. "Oof!" he exhaled, screwing his eyes shut in pain as he struck the ground. Yet his training and experience kicked in immediately, and his left hand shot back, grabbing a handful of clothing, as his right fumbled for his knife.

Just as his hands closed around the hilt, a smooth, cool sensation of a blade on his neck caused him to cease all movement. Tense, he waited for the enemy combatant to make a move, while running though his options as fast as he could in his head.

When soft lips met his own, he opened his eyes to see blazing red hair cascading over his face, and he relaxed. With a smile, he gently pushed her back, saying, "This is highly irregular rendezvous procedure…"

She laughed and rolled her eyes as she helped him to his feet. "C'mon, team leader, let's go find the rest of Fire team Kekoa 32."

"Not a bad idea," he replied, grinning. Then his grin faded as he said, "Aileen…don't do anything crazy this time, okay? I have a feeling this battle isn't going to be the cakewalk we were told it would be. I don't know what I would do if I lost you…"

As he clenched his jaw and turned away, Aileen sighed, "Balthazar, I know you want to protect me, but you can't. You're asking me to be someone I'm not. I'm a soldier, just as much as you are, just as much as TJ or Owen or any other person in our squad. I'll try and be a little more careful, but I won't make any promises."

Zar resisted the urge to scream, and replied, "That'll have to do."

Without looking at her, he picked up his gun and, after consulting his compass, began to head north. They walked in silence, in part because of the chance of alerting hostiles in the area, but not for just that reason.

As they got closer to the battle itself, echoes of the snaps and cracks of small-arms fire along with the occasional roar of an explosion began to get louder and louder. Clearly, the fighting was well underway. Zar glanced back at Aileen. They both shared the same thought; that they were needed, and soon. He racked the slide on his carbine and took off at a jog, and Aileen followed right behind him.

The trees began to clear, and as buildings glowing orange with fire came into view, the sound became tainted with the shouts and cries of men. A rocket flew from a rooftop down to the street below, hitting a car and producing a roiling fireball, throwing arms, legs, and other parts high into the air, and casting twisted shadows on the walls of nearby structures. His breath quickened, and Zar's fast jog turned into a sprint, his feet pounding the ground as he propelled himself closer.

If it wasn't for the glint of glass in the light of the explosion, betraying the location of a rifle scope on the rooftop of one of the buildings, he wouldn't have reacted in time. But the warning gave him a chance to throw himself backwards, out of his forward-leaning sprint, and dig his heels into the earth, bringing him to a screeching halt. Moving faster than he had ever moved before, he twisted around, pushed off with his feet, and tackled Aileen to the ground as a crater blasted into being on the tree trunk exactly level with where her head had been a split-second before. Even before they struck the ground, Zar had released her and rolled away, shouting instructions. "Get up! Get up, move! Bob and weave! Run in zig-zags! I'll meet you at the building with the hole in the wall!" he ordered, not entirely sure how much she was able to understand.

He scrambled to his feet as another tree, this time inches from his thigh, shattered and threw bark outward like shrapnel. Glancing at the city, he took in the large road dividing two rows of small, four story buildings, all of which were covered in rubble, fire, and soldiers. The building he had described, with its wall blown outward onto the street and other wall closest to the tree line, was on his left. He immediately charged towards the structure to his right.

Just as he felt the sniper was lining up a good shot, he ducked, spun, and sprinted back left, weaving in and out of trees, shooting back in the sniper's general direction, and even dropping into a roll once or twice. By some miracle, he made it to the building unscathed, and he immediately pressed his back against the wall to protect him from the sniper's line of sight and to search for Aileen. After a few seconds, she darted out from a group of trees and slammed into the wall beside him, gasping for breath and grinning. She looked at him, her face coated in dirt from her fall, and flared her nostrils, "I've got this guy!"

She whipped around and took off towards the corner of the building closest to the street, and before he could protest, she vanished around it.

"No! Aileen, don't!" he shouted, but it was too late. Gunshots filled the air from the street just beyond the edge of the structure. Gridding his teeth, he sprinted to the corner, stuck his gun around it, pointed it upwards towards the sniper's rooftop, and pulled the trigger. The weapon bucked in his hands as it fired bullet after bullet.

He paused and looked out into the street, but Aileen was nowhere to be found. He was just about to run out when chunks of brick and mortar flew from the wall as a loud crack followed it. He jumped back around the corner, and tried to come up with a plan.

Just as he was beginning to worry, a shout came from the ledge of the roof above him, "Hey Zar, what the hell are you just standing there for? Don't you know we're kinda fighting a war here?"

He looked up, and grinned. Never before in his life was he so glad to see Tolbert standing on a roof with a rocket propelled grenade launcher on his shoulder.

"TJ! No time to explain! Rooftop, opposite side of the street, three buildings down from the trees!"

Josaphat understood immediately, and he rushed to the ledge near the street. As he disappeared from Balthazar's view, Zar ran over to the corner, and looked around it, just as he heard the loud _whosh_ sound of the rocket leaving the launcher, and a moment later, the sniper's rooftop ripped apart, raining large chunks of debris down on the street below.

"Kill confirmed!" Zar yelled, "Good shot!"

He spun around the corner, leapt through the hole in the wall, and made his way up the ruins of a staircase until he reached the rooftop.

TJ was there, and when Zar arrived on the roof he ran over and embraced him, laughing, and replied, "A good shot? Man that was a great shot!"

Balthazar broke away, and turned to see Owen lying prone on the ledge, picking off enemies with his M24 Sniper Rifle, and Aileen crouched by his side, using her carbine to take out closer targets and provide suppressing fire. He marched over to her, and grabbed her shoulder. She shrugged him off, and tensed her muscles as she squeezed off a few shots.

Stiffly, he said, "Lance Corporal Shelomith, I need to speak with you on a matter of the utmost importance."

At that, she turned her head to look up at him. "Is the matter of a personal nature? If so, it can wait. I have a battle to fight." And with that, she turned back to the street, searching for movement.

Why did she have to be so difficult? "Specialist Elbridge, I'm repositioning you to the adjacent wall," ordered Zar, pointing to the ledge that was closest to the next building, opposite the trees. Owen turned away from his scope to stare at Balthazar for a moment, and then nodded. He stood up, slung his rifle over his shoulder and walked away.

With Owen gone, Zar's voice softened. "Aileen, please, look at me."

With a sigh, she stood up and turned to stare into his eyes. "If you're going to complain about me taking the initiative earlier, then don't bother, Zar. I don't want to hear it."

Balthazar shook his head, and relied, "No, I won't complain. But I will ask why you did it. I thought we agreed you would be more careful?"

"And I thought you heard me say no promises. I took a risk, Zar. Yes, it was dangerous, but wars aren't won by staying away from every hazardous situation!"

"I know that! I know that…but does the person taking the biggest risks always have to be you?"

He tried to force all of his pent-up anxiety, love, concern, and fear into the question as he stared into the depths of her soul, hoping she could see that he needed her, as much as he needed to breathe.

Aileen's bright blue eyes softened, and she gently touched his face. "You know what, Zar? You worry too much."

With that, she kissed him. It was brief and hurried, but it still shocked Balthazar from head to toe, as though he had just touched a live wire. Her lips left his as she leaned back and opened her eyes, smiling. "I love you," She told him.

"And I you, Aileen," he breathed, flashing her a smile before turning to the other two members of Fire team Kekoa 32, who were respectfully looking away.

"Alright guys, grab your gear. Let's move out."

They made their way through the streets, with Zar taking point, engaging groups of enemy combatants until they found another Fire team. Slowly they gathered more soldiers that were air-dropped in, until they finally found the Lieutenant Colonel in charge of their regiment, and joined the larger force that had attacked the city by ground. As the sun rose, the fighting continued, relentless and mind-numbing. Aside from brief breaks, Fire team Kekoa 32 was engaged in the combat the entire day. When night fell on the second day, they were finally called back from the fighting. Aileen, Zar, TJ and Owen made their way to the structure being used as the HQ, were debriefed by the Lieutenant Colonel, and given time to sleep. Wearily, they trudged to a building serving as the barracks, found an empty room, and collapsed onto their bedrolls, exhausted. Within moments, each one was asleep.

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**Disclaimer**: Read the last chapter's one, I don't feel like typing it out again. Don't like it? Well, tough.

**Author's Note**: Phew! That was a longer one! Now, I know what you may be thinking: Dude, wtf! This isn't from the Inheritance Cycle! And you'd be correct, it's not. BUT, these characters are actually main characters, so I need to introduce them. Lemme know if you liked them! :D …Or, if you didn't, that's cool too... And don't worry; we'll get back to Alagaësia next chapter!

**P.S.** As I said last chapter, this is my first time writing any sort of story, so if you have any advice, constructive criticism, or even just a note on what I'm doing correctly, I'd really appreciate it! Thanks for reading!

**P.S.S.** My military knowledge is based solely on Google searches, Wikipedia pages, and war movies. So, considering that, I'd say it's highly unlikely that I got even half of what would have "actually" happened in a real combat scenario. But if YOU know about this stuff, please don't hesitate to correct me! Okay, I'm done. You can go now.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

**Quick A/N**: I'm SO SORRY it took me so long to do this chapter! Yes, it is significantly longer than the other two, but the main reason it took so long is because I completely underestimated the pressure of writing the protagonist of a critically acclaimed, famous, best-seller series. It took me about two days to finish writing it. I spent the next two days nitpicking every phrase, thought, perception and interaction that Eragon has in this chapter, constantly thinking: _Would he _really_ say that? No, he probably wouldn't…except what if he did?! OH GOD!_  
Definitely harder than I expected…but I _really_ would like to get the Alagaësian characters as perfect as possible, so please, please, PLEASE tell me if I messed up on one! ESPECIALLY THE MAIN CHARACTER.  
kthanksenjoy.

The water of the cloud kissed Eragon's skin with cool lips, raising his hairs on end as gooseflesh spread down his arms and neck. He shivered with pleasure, before another flap of Saphira's mighty wings propelled them from the fog. Shaking his head and running his hands though his hair to dispel the water droplets, Eragon was struck by such an overwhelming feeling of unadulterated elation and happiness that he couldn't help but let it spill over to Saphira. Through their bond, he could feel her heart warm, and Saphira responded with tucking her wings in and dropping into a spinning dive. Eragon squeezed his thighs together and clutched Saphira's neck spike while whooping in joy, expressing his utter bliss to anything within earshot.

Whistling though the air, the wind tearing at Eragon's cloths and buffeting his body, the Rider and dragon dropped through the clouds, and the chain of lush, green islands that speckled the otherwise unblemished carpet of white and blue below them faded into view. As always, the sight took Eragon's breath away. The largest of the landmasses was characterized by surprisingly large mountains arranged in a semicircle along the eastern coast, while the rest of the circular isle was coated in a thick jungle. It was here that Blödhgarm and he had decided to settle, and with the help of the other elves, they quickly constructed a sizeable hall (Which they simply designated as Riders' hall) in the foothills of the mountains, at the interface between the peaks and dense trees. Around the main island on all sides were countless smaller islets of all shapes and sizes, ranging from long, thin ovals to tiny, star-shaped chunks of earth.

As the un-bonded eggs began to hatch, the wild dragons claimed the northern caves of the mountains as their home. They lived in them quite comfortably, hunting the animals in the numerous isles surrounding the main island and occasionally venturing down to Eragon's hall to interact with their bonded brethren.

Over the years, young, new Riders began to make their way to Eragon's island home as the eggs he sent back to Alagaësia made loops though the land to hatch for members of all four races. As more and more of the fledgling Riders arrived, the single hall grew into a cluster of structures, before expanding further into a small town, inhabited by dozens of Riders-in-training. The main hall itself was adjusted, eventually more than doubling in size, in order to accommodate the growing number of Riders and dragons. Despite its massive dimensions, the main hall was often crowded, filled with eager students seeking knowledge from the Eldunarí, sparring from the elves, or help from Eragon or Saphira.

Eragon welcomed the intrusions, regardless of the time of day or his current preoccupation. Throughout his entire life, he was always the student. Whether it was Brom, Oromis, Glaedr, or even Arya, he always had a mentor to guide him and show him and teach him. Until now, where in an unusual turn of events, the roles have been reversed. He has become the instructor to a new generation of Riders, and although he was still not completely comfortable in the position, he was determined to fulfill his duties to the absolute best of his abilities. And so, if any of his pupils came to him for anything at all, Eragon vowed never to turn one away.

In addition to leaving himself open for individuals seeking specific assistance, Eragon also made sure to instruct the new Riders as a group, honing their skills in swordplay, mental combat, the use of the Ancient Language, flying, critical thinking, and more. Along with teaching a wide variety of abilities, Eragon maintained diversity on the ways he instructed them, never falling into any predictable routine. Conventional methods such as one-on-one duels and written tests were interspersed with more unfamiliar tactics, including races up the mountains, aerial games of tag, timed riddles and puzzles, and, of course, the annual Capture the Banner competition.

Capture the Banner was the ultimate test for the young Riders and dragons, as it incorporated magic, fighting, and tactics all at once. All the dragon Riders would be divided into two equal teams, and each team would be assigned a colored Banner. The red Banner would be placed on the northernmost island, a large, oval, hilly key with a thinner jungle than most. The blue Banner, on the other hand, would be placed several miles away on the southernmost island, a medium-sized, hourglass-shaped isle with a single small mountain at its center, surrounded by a jungle with an impenetrably thick canopy. The main island was roughly in the middle of the two bases, and Eragon, Blödhgarm, and the other elves would be on standby to assist any injured. The objective was to steal the enemy team's Banner and return it safely to one's own base island; if completed successfully, the team to do so would be proclaimed the victors, and would be exempt from any everyday jobs and tasks for a month.

_Have you selected the teams yet, little one?_ Saphira's questioning mind prodded his own as she gently extended her wings and pulled out of her plunging dive.

Eragon scratched his head in confusion as he asked, _Teams? What do you mean?_

Surprise streamed from Saphira as she replied, _Eragon! Do not tell me you have forgotten what today is?_

_Ah, of course!_ Eragon laughed, _today's the Capture the Banner competition!_

Saphira snorted smoke, expressing her disapproval. _Honestly, I do not understand how it could have slipped your mind. We have been preparing them for it for the past few months!_

Coughing and waving his arms to dispel the smoke, Eragon smiled and thought, _It must have been your spectacular flying just now. I was so impressed it distracted me from everything else!_

She paused to consider this, gliding on a thermal, before replying with an approving hum. _That IS understandable…_

As he ran his hands over the scales of her side, feeling her vibration though the palm of his hand, he realized, _We had better get back soon, there are still many preparations to complete._

Saphira sent him her agreement, before turning to head over the treetops of their island home towards the base of the mountains.

As they flew, Eragon noticed a small inconsistency in the color of the mountains in the distance. Against the dull grey and brown of the mountainside sparkled a growing speck of green. His breath quickening, Eragon cast his mind outwards as far as he could, and ignoring the animals of the forest below along with his students at Riders' hall, he searched for the feel of a certain consciousness. Then, as his mind brushed against that of Arya Drötting and her emerald dragon, Fírnen, his heart skipped a beat. He shared his discovery with Saphira, and as she laid eyes on Fírnen in the distance, she roared in happiness and let loose a massive lance of flame, scorching the air with the power of her exuberance. Faintly, Eragon spotted Fírnen's bright green response stretch across the sky before he was thrown backwards in his saddle as Saphira quickly picked up speed.

Saphira flew so fast that his eyes began to water, and he had to shield them with his hands. The trees below dissolved into a shifting, dark green blur. Then, without warning, Saphira shot upwards twisting and turning as Fírnen met her in the air, and the two dragons spiraled around one another in an intricate dance. It was an amazing sight, yet slightly disorienting, as Eragon's perception of the world transformed into an incomprehensible jumble of colors. He caught flashes of Arya's jet-black hair, Fírnen's glittering scales, the soft blue of the open sky, and the vivid greens and browns of the jungle below, each glimpsed only for a split second before another took its place.

Eventually, Eragon begged, _Saphira! Before I lose my breakfast, could you let me down at home?_

He felt her amusement as she slowed down and leveled out once more. He clutched his head as the world continued to shift and spin in front of him. A moment later, when the world steadied and Saphira was making her way towards Riders' hall alongside Fírnen, he turned to look at Arya.

Her leafy green eyes were turned downwards, gazing into the jungle beneath them, as her black as pitch hair caught the sun and flowed out behind her, like the dark, silvery tail of a shooting star. Eragon adverted his eyes. As much as he enjoyed Arya's company on her occasional visits, they were still constant reminders of what he wished for with all his heart, yet knew could never come to be. Time had yet to fade his feelings for the elven woman to his side, and like a wound trying to heal, each time she came to him ripped the scab off and began the bleeding anew.

Risking another glance, Eragon happened to catch Arya's eyes as she looked up. She smiled at him, and suddenly the world around him lit up, instantly turning into a far more bright and vibrant place than it had been only seconds before. He could not help but grin back, and decide that regardless of the associated pain, he much preferred Arya here than back in Du Weldenvarden.

Both dragons touched down by the entrance to the hall, and as the Riders dismounted, Eragon's young pupils began to spill out of the great building to greet them. As they approached, Eragon turned to Arya, and greeted her, "Well met, Arya Shadeslayer."

She smiled at the use of their shared title, and replied, "Yes, well met indeed."

And then the new dragons and Riders crowded them, bombarding every member of their party with a barrage of questions and inquiries. Arya was greeted by all and begged to tell of events in Alagaësia, Fírnen and Saphira were requested to come fly with the other dragons, and Eragon was asked the same thing countless times.

"What are the teams, Firesword? I cannot wait any longer!" cried Kalphog, shaking his fist and gnashing his teeth.

It was a fearsome sight, as the massive Kull shook his horns and his gargantuan silver dragon, Tithrí, loudly snarled, snorting jets of flame longer than two men from his nostrils. If Eragon hadn't known the two personally and wasn't aware they were merely excited for the upcoming event, he would have been terrified. However, Kalphog happened to be one of Eragon's most dedicated pupils, spending nearly every waking hour furthering his abilities as a Rider. Tithrí rarely ceased honing his aerial skills, and despite his huge size, he was certainly the quickest and nimblest of all the bonded and un-bonded dragons. Surprisingly, while still perceived as highly aggressive by human standards, amongst the Urgals the Rider and dragon were viewed as almost peaceful.

Eragon laughed at Kalphog's eagerness, and answered, "Ah, I'm afraid you will have to wait a little more, my friend. I shall tell everyone this evening!"

"No! Truly, Master? Hours more?" complained Kalphog, slumping to the ground, leaning back on Tithrí's leg and placing his head in his hands. "Tithrí and I were up before the sunrise, awaiting your and Saphira's return, and when you finally come back, our patience is rewarded with no answer at all?"

A small, elven hand appeared, placed comfortingly on Kalphog's bristly hide. "Kalphog, the time will pass quickly, I assure you. Why don't you come spar with me while we wait?" said Jiwëya.

Kalphog relaxed and lowered his hands, twisted his head towards her. Chuckling, he replied, "I would not want to injure you, my little friend."

"Injure me?" She questioned, grinning, "Or are you just afraid I'll beat you?"

His light chuckle devolved into raucous laughter. Jiwëya was doubtless Kalphog's closest friend, and he was hers. She had fine golden hair that appeared almost transparent in the sunlight, along with angular elven features and dark green eyes the color of pine needles. They struck an odd image together, with Kalphog standing well over twelve feet tall but Jiwëya just under six; Kalphog's form was corded with thick, bulging muscle but Jiwëya had little less than skin and bones. Yet all it would take is a minute of observation to see how clearly they fit together, like two pieces of a puzzle. Jiwëya never failed to calm Kalphog when he got angry or agitated, keeping his hot blood cooler than it would be without her by his side, and Kalphog pushed Jiwëya to stand up for herself and be brave and courageous, counteracting her normally calm, withdrawn tendencies. They balanced each other out perfectly, the epitome of yin and yang between two beings.

A small, sleek-looking purple dragon slithered forward and nipped Tithrí sharply but playfully on the tail. Considering his colossal size, topping that of Galbatorix's black dragon Shruikan and rivaling the legendary proportions of Belgabad, it was unlikely the bite caused any pain. Tithrí simply twisted his head, fixating the tiny lavender dragon within his sights and softly growled in greeting.

The smaller dragon was Raetha, Jiwëya's feisty companion. Although Tithrí and Raetha's size difference mirrored that of their riders, their personalities were ironically reversed. Of the two, it was Tithrí that was more quiet, reserved and soft-hearted, whereas Raetha was wild, spirited and aggressive. They too were very close, and the four of them were often next to inseparable.

"Master Eragon, now that you have a worthy counterbalance in Arya Drötting, why don't the both of you participate in this year's Capture the Banner?" shouted one of his dwarf apprentices.

The idea spread like wildfire, and Riders and dragons alike pleaded with Eragon, all clamoring over each other to try and convince him. Eragon shook his head and protested, but the students persisted, growing ever louder. Eventually, Eragon realized he could not deny an idea that had such overwhelming support, and with a glance at Arya, whose eyes twinkled with amusement as she nodded her consent, he relented.

"Very well, we'll join you all tonight!" He yielded, earning cries of excitement and eager anticipation from the assembled crowd. "Now go, begin the preparations! Time is short until sundown, and there is still much to be done!"

With whoops and shouts, the Riders quickly mounted their dragons as each pair set off to complete their assigned task. Eragon watched as Kalphog reached up to grab the edge of his saddle and swung himself onto Tithrí's back with ease, and Jiwëya sprinted up Raetha's leg, landing softly in her seat. Despite the noise of yelling Riders and dragons taking flight, Kalphog's deep bass voice resounded throughout the area as he pointed towards Raetha and Jiwëya and challenged, "Last one to the weapons building forfeits tonight's dissert!"

Tithrí roared at Raetha, who answered with a surprisingly long jet of flame, narrowly missing Tithrí's sizeable snout. The large dragon's shoulders shook with his reverberating laughter, and Jiwëya cried in response, "Then be prepared to surrender your slice of pie!"

They both took off at the same time, flapping furiously towards the structure at the far end of the small town. Eragon rolled his eyes and shook his head at their antics. He felt the touch of Saphira's mind as she asked, _little one, have you any need of me to help get ready? If not, I wish to show Fírnen the new additions to our home._

_I'll be fine,_ He thought, _I'll see you this evening?_

_This evening, _She promised, as she spread her wings and took to the air, Fírnen following closely behind her.

Eragon observed them as they flew, clearly heading towards the mountains and away from town. The tips of his ears turned red as he realized why, and quickly spun to face Arya. His heart warmed at the sight of her, the fact that she was truly here again just beginning to sink in. It had been far too long since Fírnen and she had visited, all those years ago. Her head cocked to the side as her slanted green eyes regarded him. "Eragon, why are you smiling?"

He replied honestly, "It is good to see you, Arya."

At that she smiled as well. He gestured for her to follow him, saying, "Here, let me show you to your quarters."

As they walked, she asked, "How have things been here? I have not heard word from Riders' hall in quite some time."

Eragon never liked to brag about himself. However, he was immensely proud of his students, and did not hesitate to launch into a list of their various accomplishments. Arya was content to walk by his side and listen, nodding and murmuring in agreement when appropriate. After some time, once Eragon began to speak of how Red team won last year's Capture the Banner, she stopped him. Raising a sharp eyebrow, she paused in her stride. "This is the first year we have arrived to witness this competition of yours, and considering I shall be participating this year, it seems you should explain something to me."

Confused, Eragon hesitated. Racking his brains, he asked, "…What to you want to know?"

Her musical laugh seemed to touch the inner reaches of his soul, causing his entire being to resonate in harmony with the heavenly sound. "The rules, Eragon! I do not know how to play!"

"Oh," he grinned, running his hand through his hair, "I guess that would be useful information for someone intending to partake."

"Really? You think so?" she replied, sarcasm blatant in her voice. Flashing her sparkling teeth, she closed her eyes and resumed walking, shaking her head, causing her hair to reflect the sun in shimmering patterns. The exchange shattered any awkwardness that had formed between them from their years apart, and they walked side by side as Eragon explained the guidelines, completely comfortable in each other's company.

! #$%^&*()_+! #$%^&*()_+! #$%^&*()_+! #$%^&*()_+

In the fading light, the red and blue Banners planted in the ground a hundred meters apart in front of Riders' hall appeared regal and dramatic, resembling standards for great armies and casting huge rippling shadows on the earth behind them. Directly between them, standing on a raised platform, was Eragon, and Saphira sat crouched on the ground beside him.

His voice magically amplified, Eragon spoke to the crowd of dragons and Riders assembled before him. "My fellow Riders, I welcome you to the 7th annual Capture the Banner!"

Deafening roars, cheers, and applause filled the air. Kalphog thrust both arms into the air and bellowed into the night sky, while Jiwëya, perched on his shoulders and holding onto his horns, added her own cry to the thunderous din. On either side of them, Tithrí and Raetha blew plumes of flame towards the heavens, their violet and silver tails intertwined behind their Riders.

His breath quickened and heart sped up as adrenaline began to course through his veins. He held up a hand to quiet them, and proceeded. "We will now announce the teams! When Saphira or I call your name, proceed to your Banner."

The area dropped immediately into a hushed silence. He spied Kalphog and Jiwëya, both obviously tense and holding their breaths. His arm was up on her leg, securing her to his shoulder, as if he could keep her with him regardless of which team she was put on. Eragon resisted the urge to throw his hands in the air in exasperation. _Do they not trust me?_ Eragon asked.

Saphira noticed the two friend's positions, and reassured him, _Of course they do, Eragon. They are simply nervous. It is only natural to be concerned about fighting against one's closest ally._

Slightly jealous, Eragon replied, _Well, _I _must fight against my closest ally…_

Amused, she retorted, _As must I! But this is in the name of fairness. Besides, it is not all bad, is it? I can show Fírnen that just because he is older now, he is still not my equal!_

Suppressing a laugh, Eragon thought, _Yes, of that I have no doubt Saphira._

Clearing his throat, Eragon began to list the names of the Riders as Saphira announced the names of the dragons. As more people joined the groups behind the Banners, they embraced their friends and began to formulate a strategy for the upcoming battle. When he got to Kalphog and Saphira called Tithrí, the Urgal swallowed and gently lowered Jiwëya to the ground as his dragon grudgingly withdrew his tail from its embrace with Raetha's. The pair began to trudge reluctantly towards the red Banner. As they got halfway there, Eragon caught his eyes and grinned. A glimmer of hope appeared in Kalphog's shrouded eyes, and he slowed. Eragon and Saphira simultaneously announced, "Jiwëya/_Raetha_: … _Red Team!_"

At that, Kalphog whirled around as Jiwëya cried in excitement, flying over the stretch of grass separating them before slamming into Kalphog's embrace. Her arms barely made it halfway around his waist while his arms completely enveloped her. Raetha roared and jumped forward, her small but strong wings carrying her instantly to Tithrí, and she proceeded to leap on his back and cling to his neck, wrapping her tail around it. He hummed in delight, turning his head back to brush the side of his massive jaw against her side. Eragon laughed out loud, then remembered his voice was still being amplified, and tried to cover it with a cough. He felt Saphira snickering beside him, as the two friends withdrew and looked to Eragon, their overwhelming thanks written across both their faces. He nodded at them, and as he turned his attention back to the other unselected Riders, he saw Arya smiling at him warmly. He grinned back, and continued to call off names.

Once he was finished, both teams stood en masse beside their respective Banners, talking amongst each other to decide on tactics and shouting friendly taunts at the opposing Riders. He then announced, "Saphira and I will be joining the Red Team! Arya Drötting and Fírnen shall join the Blue Team!"

Shouting erupted from both sides as they cheered for their corresponding leader. Yelling to be heard over all the noise, he added, "Be sure to dull your blades! No lethal or maiming magic is allowed! Be careful of hurting your fellow Riders, and play fair!"

As the sun crept ever closer to the horizon, the two crowds of dragon Riders became more and more restless, and Eragon knew he would not be able to restrain them any longer. "Go forth! Place your Banners at the bases on each island! The competition begins at sundown!"

Each and every Rider and dragon were awaiting the command, and when Eragon shouted, one by one they all leapt into the sky, going on spiritedly to their islands. Eragon jumped off the platform onto Saphira's back and settled into his saddle, hurriedly strapping himself in. A voice called, "Eragon!"

Looking over his shoulder, he saw Arya riding atop Fírnen with her sword drawn, the purples and pinks of the sunset turning what would have been a fierce image into a much softer one. Eragon drew Brisingr from its scabbard, with a sliding sound of steel on wood, and pointed it at them. "May the best team win!"

Fírnen roared at Saphira, who returned his roar twice folds, and Arya repeated, "Aye, may the best team win!"

The two dragons shot into the sky together, twisting about each other once before going their separate ways, Eragon to the red base in the north and Arya to the blue base in the south. He watched as she disappeared into the distance in the fading light, with nothing but memory to prove she was ever truly there at all. He looked back forwards as they approached the base of the Red Team. Saphira spotted the wide clearing near the center of the isle in which the red Banner would be placed. Touching down amongst the other Riders of his team, Eragon was instantly brought in on the plan that was developed in his absence. It was cleverly simple, just appointing certain Riders to defense and others to offense, leaving the enemy to guess at ghosts of traps and tricks that did not exist. Eragon and Saphira were designated as part of the offensive group, and once the strategy was clarified, all fell silent as each pair of eyes fixated on the horizon.

The moment the sun dipped below the line of the sea, Kalphog and Tithrí roared in unison, echoing for miles around, and with a single thrust of Tithrí's enormous wings, the Kull Rider and immense silver dragon took to the starry skies. War cries resounded from all the remaining Riders as they followed suit, including Eragon and Saphira. In a giant swarm, the members of the offensive division of Red Team sped south, Tithrí and Kalphog leading the charge, and Jiwëya atop Raetha just behind him.

As the group drew closer to the main island, wings flapping furiously and throats continuously releasing yells and shouts, the light of the moon began to reveal the telltale sparkle of dragon scales and armor in the distance.

"Prepare yourselves!" Eragon warned, roaring to be heard over the shrieking winds. The vague specks of light quickly swelled into the identifiable shapes of enemy Riders. Moments later, Eragon felt a barrage of unfamiliar consciousness's assaulting his mind, tearing at his mental defenses. Taking a deep breath, Eragon solidified the barriers around his consciousness, while at the same time doing his best to thwart the efforts of his enemies in regards to his teammates. If he sensed a spear of thought aimed at Jiwëya, he would quickly and subtly re-rout it back towards another member of their own team, causing much chaos and confusion amongst the Blue Team.

Then, so suddenly it seemed as though the two sides had warped forward instantaneously, the Riders clashed.

Screams of anger and fear filled the air, along with the tumultuous roars and growls of various dragons and the high-pitched ring of sword-on-sword contact. Dragons grappled with each other in midair, tearing and spewing fire from their maws, as their Riders exchanged lightning fast blows and spells. The conflict took on the appearance of a macabre rainbow, as flames and scales and swords of numerous colors blended together in a brutal parody of beauty.

Lurching suddenly, Eragon quickly grabbed Saphira with one hand and gripped Brisingr in the other as an impact drove them both sharply to the left. A dark yellow dragon with a human Rider had latched onto Saphira's right leg, attempting to pull her from the air. As the Rider was focused on weakening Saphira with his sword, Eragon leaned down and swung Brisingr as hard as he could. At the very last moment, he twisted the blade so only the flat side struck the man. The impact was directly in his ribs, and the force of the blow threw the Rider from his saddle. With a cry of terror, he plummeted down to earth. The yellow dragon roared, releasing Saphira and diving after its Rider, but the falling man was picking up speed. Eragon paused; holding his breath, he waited to see if the Rider's training would pay off. A second later, he heard a shout in the Ancient Language, and the man came to a stop in midair. Exhaling a breath of relief, Eragon turned his attention back to the ongoing battle.

Saphira and he were able to turn away any other attackers with relative ease, which worried Eragon to a degree (Clearly more training is necessary). They made their way south at a breakneck pace, and within minutes the small key with the blue Banner came into view. Saphira slowed, and as Eragon slightly opened his mind to let her in, she thought, _Eragon, we need a plan. There are bound to be numerous defenders, and no other member of our team has gotten this close as of yet. We cannot attack directly on our own._

_Yes, you are right…_Eragon replied, troubled. They couldn't just sit and wait for assistance, but this wasn't a task for one dragon and Rider. Thinking back years ago to a complex spell taught to him by Blödhgarm, Eragon began to formulate an idea. Telling Saphira, she reluctantly agreed, and the two of them dropped down to the sea, and flew along it to the beach. Once there, Eragon dismounted, and cast a complex spell creating a likeness of himself upon Saphira's back. He hugged her neck, and she nuzzled his side. _Be careful, little one._

_You too,_ he reminded her, _If anyone tries to attack with their mind, they will realize our deceit._

She scoffed at that. _Attack with their mind? They will be far too busy fending off my tooth and claw for that. _

Smiling, he released her. _Good luck._

She nodded, then turned and flew back the way she came. Eragon faced the forest, and took off at a sprint. With this elven eyesight and reflexes, he leapt over roots and shrubs, ducked under low branches, slipped between trees, and all at just under his top speed. When the trees began to thin out, he burst out of the forest at the base of the small mountain at the center of the island. Looking up, he saw Saphira leading the dozens of defenders on a merry chase across the sky, spitting blazing tongues of flame and knocking dragons away with her claws. They were so entirely focused on her that none suspected the presence of the single Rider on foot below them. Eragon grinned, and then casting a spell, began to leap with magical assistance up the mountainside, drawing upon energy stored in the jewel of his sword. A few bounds from the ledge where the blue Banner was placed, his energy stores were depleted, forcing him to use his own strength to fuel the energy-intensive spell. As his last leap brought him level with the ledge, he reached out and grabbed it. Gasping from exertion, he slowly pulled himself up onto the ledge and got to his feet. He dropped to one knee, temporarily exhausted and lightheaded. As he looked up, however, the sight of the blue Banner waving in the breeze a couple feet from his face invigorated him. _Halfway to victory!_ Eragon thought excitedly, as he reached forward to grab the Banner. He turned back to the ledge and cried out with his mind, _Saphira!_

She began to ascend upwards, and the enemy defenders followed her, but in the blink of an eye she tucked in her wings, dropped below them, and flew madly towards Eragon. The defenders were right on her tail, and Eragon began to realize she would not be able to slow down long enough for him to jump on. So as she drew within four hundred meters, timing it carefully, he reached out to her mind, borrowed some of her strength, and with a running start he leapt from the ledge in her direction, screaming, "Audr!"

The magic took effect, and he soared upwards, flying straight towards Saphira. She began to turn around, and just as she completed the maneuver, Eragon flew over her tail and landed joltingly more or less in his saddle. Holding the Banner in one hand and drawing Brisingr with the other, he shouted in Saphira's mind, _GO!_

They took off across the sea, in hot pursuit by the Blue Team defenders roaring in rage. They got not even a quarter mile away when everyone slowed to a stop, Eragon, Saphira and defenders alike, fixated on a rapidly approaching figure. It was an elven woman with flowing dark hair riding a brilliantly green dragon, and holding a rippling red Banner in her hand.

Saphira whirled around, loosing a booming roar at the defenders, who slowly retreated. As a surprising calm settled over Eragon, he thought to Saphira, _So this is it._

_Yes, yes it is._ She advanced towards the dragon colored of grass and leaves, and the Rider with similar eyes and sword. Once they were within a few hundred feet, Fírnen opened his mouth and released a jet of emerald fire at Saphira, which parted at Eragon's wards. As soon as the fire dissipated, the duel began.

Eragon had fought Arya before, and even bested her once or twice. It was not a new experience for him, crossing blades with her. Yet sparring on dragon back was vastly different. It introduced new, dynamic angles and opportunities and possibilities, while at the same time removing others. As they stabbed and slashed and parried while Saphira and Fírnen bit and clawed at one another beneath them, Eragon could not draw upon his previous experience fighting Arya, for there were simply no parallels between the two situations. While he struggled to grasp Arya's unique style of fighting in the air, she slipped her blade under his, twisting it around and flinging his arm out to the side. His chest exposed, she thrust Támerlein into his armpit and used the leverage to forcefully fling him to the side, and out of his saddle. As he fell, he saw Saphira release Fírnen and dive after him. But they were too close to the surface of the water, so Eragon brought his arms up and locked his hands together, and dove into the ocean waves.

He surfaced and saw a splash next to him as Saphira landed in the water. Swimming over to her, he slowly climbed onto her back. Once he was in the saddle once more, she rose into the air, and flew towards the island.

They landed on the ledge where the blue Banner was placed once more, along with the captured red Banner. Arya was standing amongst her team members, who were cheering her victory, chanting her name. When she caught sight of his dripping wet form, she quickly brought a hand up to her mouth to suppress a laugh. She walked over to him. "I apologize, I expected Saphira to catch you…"

"I'll be alright after a warm bath and some fresh cloths. Congratulations on your success!"

The corner of her mouth turned upwards. "Thank you, Master Eragon."

Only half joking, Eragon stepped closer than perhaps was necessary and told her, "Well, now that you know you are so talented at Capture the Banner, you must return next year to compete again…right?"

At that, her face fell. She looked down, then back up into his eyes. "Eragon, I wish—"

He would not know what she wished, for at that moment, a dragon with two riders on its back landed heavily on the ledge. Blödhgarm leapt from the dragons back, rushing up to Eragon and breathlessly said, "Shadeslayer! A message from your scrying room! Nasuada needs your assistance! It is an urgent emergency! Come quickly!"

! #$%^&*()_+! #$%^&*()_+~! #$%^&*()_+! #$%^&*()_+

**Disclaimer**: Inheritance Cycle ain't mine, got dat bro? Just borrowin' it.

**Author's Note**: Hoe. Lee. Crap. My fingers hurt…Okay, so yeah, we're back in Alagaësia, and there's a bit of a cliffhanger for next chapter. Don't feel like pressing any more keys, so I'll keep this short:

Review and lemme know what you think.

Please don't be afraid to correct me (on information, a character, etc.)

Me = brand-spanking-new writer. Would love any tips or advice you more experienced peeps have for me.

And…yeah. That's about it. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

**Quick A/N**: Took a long time again, sorry…My excuses are that it's the longest chapter so far, _and_ that I've been really, really sick for the past few days, which is not exactly conducive to the writing process!  
But, without further ado, here ya go:

"Milady! I have a message for you!"

Startled, Nasuada quickly looked up from her papers and, ignoring the alluring collage of embellishments on the wall surrounding it, looked to the door of her meeting hall. All of her assembled advisors gathered around the table stopped speaking mid-sentence and followed suit. A small page scurried through the entrance, and stopping in front of the Queen hastily shouted, "Master Thalamir requests your presence in his laboratory at once!"

She nodded to the young boy, waving her hand. "Thank you, you may go," she said, dismissing him. The blood in her veins began to chill as she realized what Thalamir was about to request of her, and what she would have to deny him.

"Queen Nasuada, if I may," began her Advisor on Economics, "there are still many pressing issues that you have yet to examine, let alone determine a course of action for. I urge you to postpone your meeting with that hair-brai—Er, that Master Magician until a later date, due to the sheer number of unresolved matters."

Taking a deep breath, Nasuada leaned back from the desk, sinking into the cushions of the chair as she considered his proposal. It was tempting, for this was certainly not a get-together that she was looking forward to. For a moment, she entertained the idea of simply pushing back the date of the meeting continuously, thus essentially avoiding it completely. However, such a tactic would be blatantly obvious and highly disrespectful to Thalamir, which she could not afford to do, since she needed him; no other could lead Varda abr Vanyali like Thalamir. It was clear how much this meant to the man, and she knew she could not keep him waiting for it. No, this was something she simply must do. Fending off the grimace that rose to take her features and ignoring the sour taste in her mouth, she slowly rose, answering, "No, I'm afraid this cannot wait. But fear not, I shall return with the utmost haste."

Discontented muttering and grumbling spread through the advisors in the room as the Queen proceeded to walk around the outsized tabletop and head to the doorway, seemingly new statues and paintings catching her eye all the way. As she exited, conversation resuming between the men still in the hall, the Nighthawks stationed on either side of the door fell into step behind and in front of her. Approaching them from down the hall, returning from a short trip, strode Elva.

Elva was now well into womanhood, and had stayed by Nasuada's side all these years, even when the Queen gave her permission to leave her service. As she grew older, Elva's strange, unnatural looks had transformed into exotic beauty. She often wore tight fitting trousers and cloaks in place of dresses, defying traditional womanly attire. With long, flowing black hair, often tied back away from her ageless face to clearly display the shining star on her brow and her vibrant, intense violet eyes, Elva did not quite fit the standard definition of loveliness, yet none would deny her unusual form of attractiveness.

Tall and confident, Elva stepped up to the Queen and greeted her with a nod and a brief murmur of, "Nasuada," forgoing any sort of title due to the closeness of their relationship. Nasuada responded likewise, and inquired, "I hope your travels were without difficulties?"

Elva laughed, and answered cryptically, "Few things worth doing are without them, Nasuada."

The captain of the Nighthawks, a rugged but slightly boyish human sporting medium-length shaggy blonde hair named Harth, stepped forward and took Elva's hand, kissing it and saying, "Lady Elva, it has been far too long."

A strange look entered her brilliant purple gaze as she considered the captain, before smiling and responding, "Yes, that it has, Captain Harth. I trust you have watched Nasuada well while I've been gone?"

Harth bobbed his head eagerly, and dimples appeared on his face as he beamed back. "Every hour of every day, my Lady."

"That's good to hear," replied Elva. Turning to Nasuada, she queried, "So, where are you off to?"

Harth repeated, "Yes, where to, my Queen?"

She smiled at them, replying, "The headquarters of Varda abr Vanyali, at the heart of the Ilirea, near the—"

Raising his hand, he interrupted her. "Forgive me, Milady, but I know the location. Quite well, in fact."

His response begged the question. "Oh? Why is that?"

Grinning, he answered, pride thick and evident in his voice, "My daughter is training there, honing her magical talents to become an enforcer of the laws of magic."

In her worry and obsession over Thalamir's recent proposal, she had almost forgotten that he was not just a discoverer of terrifying prospects, but also an excellent educator. Thousands came to Ilirea from the four corners of Alagaësia to learn magic under his and his senior apprentices' tutelage; including a handful of elves, who were the only ones that were able to begin to grasp Thalamir's wild theories. In Thalamir's hands, magical knowledge has flourished in the short two decades since the creation of the new Empire, far surpassing any other point in Alagaësian history. From impossible miracles, such as reviving the recently deceased with bolts of energy that jolt them back to the world of the living or the exchange of organs from a dead man to a live one, to simpler things, like his spell to enrich the soil of a farm using things he claimed came from the air we breathe, Thalamir had almost single-handedly pushed Alagaësia into a new age. A creeping thought poked at her mind, making her wonder if perhaps his seemingly endless knowledge stemmed from his observation of that…place. The surfacing memory of seeing that uncannily different scene portrayed in the mirror prompted a sharp intake of breath and a slight shudder from Nasuada.

His exuberance began to slip as he saw her response, and Elva eyed her with confusion, so she quickly corrected herself. "Harth, that's fantastic! I'm very happy that she's able to further her gift in such a prodigious institution."

Eyes sparkling, he thanked her and turned back to lead the group there, as Elva decided to accompany them. As they left her home, the sights and sounds and smells of the great city flooded her senses. Her dread at the impending conversation faded into the background, and her love for this beautiful and thriving metropolis filled its place, warming her from head to toe. They walked down the street, and while her guards and Elva were on high alert for possible threats, she took the time gazing at the welcoming shops, the tall buildings, and the blissful people strolling down the walkway enjoying the midday sunlight. One group of women was talking amongst themselves and buying fresh bread and various cheeses, while a male youth rushed down the street with a handful of flowers in his hand before he slowed, spreading his arms and catching his beloved in a tender embrace. Her work was long and time consuming, but Nasuada never put aside her responsibilities, because her efforts were what maintained this perfection, and kept life prosperous for her people.

Nasuada and her guards approached the large building that housed Varda abr Vanyali, and as they got closer, its massive spires and pylons that were iconic of Ilirea's skyline grew constantly taller. Stretching nearly a hundred stories into the sky, the structure's largest tower seemed to scrape the surface of heavens themselves. The building was constantly being expanded and added to, but since ground-level growth was limited by the surrounding houses, the expansion was often in the form of a new tower being erected somewhere on the structure. The height and location of each lofty edifice was determined strictly by practicality, and not aesthetics, producing the impression that some giant child had haphazardly dropped random barbicans atop a simple, ordinary structure. Yet despite the messy appearance, the architecture itself was far from sloppy. The towers were square instead of circular, and had walls made from patterns of metal triangles filled with stone, which Thalamir had claimed were much more structurally stable than the ordinary rectangular design. Those who were skeptical instantly changed their minds when a massive storm struck the city years back, and while many smaller buildings were torn apart, the soaring towers that were expected to topple within a few hours were among the few unaffected structures in all of Ilirea.

At last, Harth directed them around the corner of a small shoe store, and the entire institute came into view directly in front of them. An open courtyard stretched out before the building, filled with students and enforcers of the law, young and old and of many races, out relaxing, socializing, or practicing outdoors magic. As Nasuada surveyed the cobblestone area spotted with tables and benches, a group of elves and a few humans assembled in the center of the square and shouted something, but Nasuada was too far away to hear. Yet it was clear that those in the shout's range heard, for they jumped up and rapidly formed a crowd encircling the smaller group of magicians. One of the dwarf spell-weavers in the throng of onlookers happened to see Nasuada and her companions approaching and quickly turned to shout at the other members of the gathering, waving her arms. They all quickly caught sight of her, and whatever it was that was about to occur was placed on halt.

Moments later, the Queen and her entourage arrived at the scene. Harth hurriedly stepped forward, clearing his throat, and demanded, "By order of Queen Nasuada, disclose the purpose of this assembly."

An Urgal woman spoke from the forefront of the mass of magicians. "Greetings, my Queen, please allow me to elucidate." And in a voice both guttural and gentle at once, she explained, "Our mentor, Master Thalamir, instructs at various levels of magical competence. At each level, he presents the entire class with a challenge that will adequately test their skill and perseverance, and is often extremely difficult and time consuming to solve." Stepping to the side, she gestured at the small group of men and elves in the center of the ring. "These," she pointed, "are the highest level conjurers under Thalamir's teaching. And they are about to attempt to complete Thalamir's challenge for their level."

Intrigued, Nasuada responded, "Thank you for the enlightening answer, Herndall." To the group of, apparently, very powerful spellcasters at the heart of the crowd, she dipped her head. "Please, proceed."

They bowed to her, and as they formed a tight huddle to ensure their plan was known amongst themselves, the multitude of students surrounding them left a gap for Nasuada and her protectors. Walking forward to fill it and obtain a better view, Nasuada wondered what kind of problem Thalamir had conceived for such experienced magicians. As they broke away from one another, clearly having ironed out the last bits of their strategy, the group at the center inhaled as one, and slowly, over the course of almost a minute, exhaled. Then, closing their eyes and raising their hands towards the very heart of their rough circle, they began to speak.

Nasuada was no magic user, but even she could feel the air ripple and resonate in response to the power imbued within their words. Every fiber of her being sensed the verses of the magician's spells altering the fabric of reality and bending the world to their will. The elves' melodious singing intermingled with the intoning of the humans to form an otherworldly symphony, as the blended lyrics of their ethereal melody rewove the universe itself.

It was so small that at first, Nasuada hadn't even noticed it. But as it grew in size, it seized her attention. She glued her eyes to the tiny, pink and grey ball of flesh suspended in the air between the spellcasters. Captivated, she could not look away as it slowly developed into an oval roughly the size of her fists side-by-side. It was soon enveloped in an immaculately white shell, which began to extend horizontally, piece by piece. From the bleached sections of shell connected by a dull rubbery substance sprouted more fragments of the ivory substance, which were gradually coated in a soft, sinuous, light red material. Strangely colored shapes swelled from nothing to coins to the size of fruit within a cavity near the center of the figure. Nasuada's jaw dropped and her eyes flew open in shock as her mind began to interpret what it was seeing and understand what was happening. Her suspicions were confirmed when the entire form was layered with a dull yellowish gel in spots and given a full coating of bumpy, bronze epidermis. The final details commenced their manifestation, as glistening, reflective snowy orbs appeared in the skull, thick, golden hair sprouted across the surface of the skin, a wet, ebony nose poked through on its face, and large, floppy ears sprang from the sides of its head.

At long last, the song of magic fell silent, and the visibly exhausted spell-weavers collapsed to their knees and hands, gulping in lungful's of air. The dog, as it was apparent to all the thing was in fact a dog, dropped to the ground limply, released from the magic hanging it in midair. Glancing to the setting sun in surprise, Nasuada realized the process had taken multiple hours.

In the courtyard, it was eerily silent without the all-encompassing chanting and crooning of the magicians, which was replaced by their less captivating and far softer panting breaths as they recovered from their exertion. Although no magic was present, each and every member of the audience stood stock-still, unspeaking, breaths held, as if in the bonds of some malevolent enchantment. All eyes were fixed on the flaccid, motionless canine at the epicenter of the statue-like beings. Even the inner circle of spellcasters, who had since recuperated and were afflicted by the same imaginary magic as the rest, stared intently, dissolving the breathy quiet into an absolute silence. None stirred.

Opening its eyes, it raised its head and barked.

Like a hammer on glass, it shattered their constraints, and the resulting applause was booming; an almost earsplitting shift from the total muteness just a brief instant before. Hesitantly, Nasuada joined in on the clapping, while those around her cried words of congratulations and praise to the senior magicians they surrounded. The crowd converged, patting backs and giving embraces to the successful spell-weavers, and playing with the dog that had been assembled before their very eyes out of thin air.

The celebratory voices quieted noticeably, and the gathering began to split in half, revealing Thalamir's approaching form. He wore his familiar grin across his face, along with more formal attire than she was used to seeing him in. He had a heavy, dark cloak, polished boots, and had even somewhat brushed his messy mane and secured it neatly behind his head with a strip of leather. Once he reached them, relief soaked his face and posture as he saw Nasuada. "My Queen!" he exclaimed, "You came! I was worried you had not been able to find the time…Let me quickly address this recent event, and then we can head inside to discuss."

With great effort, she twisted her features into some approximation of a smile, and responded, "Yes, of course, Master Thalamir." Elva looked at her questioningly, but said nothing.

Thalamir's shiny display of teeth swelled larger. "Good, good! Now, as for you all," he started, turning to his high level magic users. He looked at each one in turn, and then to the buttery hound at their feet before throwing his arms wide and beaming. "Amazing! Spectacular work, my pupils! Absolutely astounding!" he shouted with pride and delight.

Their eyes watered at the overwhelming praise, some openly weeping with joy and grabbing their companions for support. Nasuada was shocked at how raw and open their affection and respect for their teacher was. Apparently satisfied, Thalamir began, "Now, your next challenge."

Everyone but Nasuada and Elva seemed to lean in subconsciously, drawn in, as if the pause in his words was a vacuum in space, pulling them closer to fill it. Nasuada rarely jealous, and yet she could not help but feel a twinge of envy at this. She was the Queen, the highest ruler of the land, but her words never had such an overpowering effect on people. Thalamir's brown and purple eyes met her own, and his smile turned sympathetic, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking and empathized with her plight.

"I challenge you…to produce, from once again nothing but air, a fully grown, speech-capable and mobile human being. Good luck, young spellcasters, and begin your quest," he finished.

The reverent elf bowed and solemnly swore, "We shall dedicate ourselves to this task, master, and will—"

"N-no! No, you can't!" shouted Nasuada, throwing up her hands palms out towards them, begging with her gesture for them to cease this madness. _To_ create_ a human being with magic crosses a line. A simple beast is one matter, but a person who can think and talk? I cannot allow it…_

A vein pulsed out in Thalamir's neck, and his smile twitched. His now cold, mirthless eyes turned on her again, and he calmly replied, "What was that, milady?"

The once exuberant faces around her began to turn to shock and confusion. They murmured amongst one another, and Nasuada heard snatches of, _Did she say "no" to Thalamir?, I cannot believe she just did that…, _and _What is wrong with her?_

Nasuada slowly realized where she was, and in what company. She may be Queen everywhere else, but here was Thalamir's land, and these his people. They clearly were one step away from proclaiming him a deity and kissing the ground he walked upon. Loyal as they were to her, they were equally loyal to their virtuoso magician leader, perhaps even more so. Cautiously, she stood straight and stared Thalamir down. "As Queen of the Empire, I reserve the right to question if this 'challenge' is truly necessary, and if an adequate substitute could be found."

Thalamir held her gaze unflinchingly, and shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Queen Nasuada. There is no greater challenge at the moment for this group, and as their mentor, it is my responsibility to provide them with suitable educational stimuli at the level at which they currently perform."

"That may be, yet this is wrong and unnatural."

He laughed, apparently finding her statement comical. "Wrong? Who determines morality, my Queen? Men do. We decide what is right or wrong. Ethical standards are neither permanent nor immutable; as times change, they too must be altered. Years ago, it was considered 'wrong' to interact with the Urgralgra civilly. They were to be treated as inhuman monsters. Correct me if I'm wrong, milady, but it was you yourself what changed this code of conduct during the war, due to your allegiance with this race, yes? Your own actions are proof of my claim. Times are different now than they were those score of years ago as well. As for unnatural, however, the answer is fairly obvious. Magic is a natural force in Alagaësia. So, any products are transitively natural as well. Therefore, my dear Queen, this challenge is far from 'wrong and unnatural.' No, no this is quite the opposite. Discovery and experimentation are the dual keys to the future, Queen Nasuada, and you mustn't be afraid to use them."

Concluding his speech with a chilling smile, Thalamir awaited her response amid a roaring ovation, his students cheering and shouting.

_The moment of truth,_ Nasuada recognized. _Do I stand strong, or allow this atrocity?_ She took a breath, ready to order Thalamir off this course of action, when Elva's cool, collected voice filled her ears. "Don't do that, Nasuada," she whispered, "I sense things could go badly if you do. I agree with you, yet it is not worth the risk. Allow him this small victory, trust me."

This news alarmed Nasuada, for Elva's ability allowed her to sense coming harm and misfortune. If that lay down the path that she had chosen, did that mean her own subjects would have hurt her for going against their master? Beside her, Elva's piercing glare stabbed through Thalamir's calm façade, causing his smile to waver under the intensity of her violet-eyed scrutiny.

Sighing, she relented. "Very well, I suppose I cannot stand in the way of…progress."

His toothy grin returned in earnest as his eyes lit up with the light of triumph. "Milady, don't be concerned, no one can. Now, to my workroom, shall we?"

He bowed and motioned for her to proceed to the ten foot tall doors protecting the entrance to the center of Varda abr Vanyali. She moved to do so, and Elva fell into step beside her as the Nighthawks encircled them. Rushing around them to the front of the entourage, Thalamir threw open the massive wooden doors and strode inside, leading them there. After many turns and repetitive stone hallways, they arrived at a single, smooth metal door. Thalamir muttered something too quiet to be heard and traced a complex pattern on the shiny surface of the metal before him, causing it to silently and by its own accord slide left into the wall.

In the doorway he paused and turned to the guards and Elva. "I'm afraid this is for the Queen's ears alone. You must wait out here."

Before Nasuada could agree, Elva stepped forward, challenging, "I am the Queen's personal protector. I refuse to allow her to leave my sight."

Harth stepped forward to place a hand on her arm and soothingly say, "Lady Elva, please, the Queen is quite safe with Master Thalamir. We will be alright if we…just wait…out…"

His voice faded away once Elva's head snapped sideways to cast him a withering glance, her indigo irises seeming to bore though his very flesh. Clearing his throat, Harth dropped his hand and stepped back away from her.

Looking back to Thalamir, she smiled, the icy expression like a snow-coated mountaintop compared to Thalamir's autumn frost in the courtyard. She stepped forward again unexpectedly, and Thalamir instinctively stumbled back. Her movements smooth and sinuous as a jungle cat, she slid through the sudden gap between him and the doorway, striding nonchalantly into his laboratory. He spun around, jaw working up and down without any sound to accompany the action, staring after her in surprise. As he recovered, he shouted, "Lady Elva! You cannot touch that! It is very—Ah, blast it."

Whirling back to Nasuada and the Nighthawks, he hurriedly ushered Nasuada in the room, glaring at the guards. As soon as she crossed the doorway, he whispered an inaudible word in the Ancient Language and the metal door slammed shut.

Now that she was inside, an examination of the room left Nasuada breathless. It was huge, far bigger than her large meeting hall, and the air felt saturated with power. Its ceiling was decorated in a chaotic rainbow decoration, appearing as though a thick splattering of paint had been flung across it. In its center were countless tables of different shapes and dimensions, every one surrounded with students working on diverse projects. Shaped like a perfect square, its walls were labeled with the cardinal directions.

The North wall was mounted with several rows of metal cages, some with screeching, howling animals, some with worryingly inanimate figures, and others empty, awaiting new captives. The South wall had shelves and shelves of supplies. From unfamiliar jars labeled "Caramelized Anthropological Ejectamenta" to something as common as bread, the diversity and volume of materials on the shelves astounded her. The numerous cabinets and containers on the West wall, on which the doorway they had passed through was placed, contained glassware, sharp instruments, and other such equipment and tools. All of these held Nasuada's attention just briefly, yet the East wall grabbed it like a web of a spider. The whole thing was coated with silver, divided into sections like a checkerboard by dark lines. The typically shiny metal sheet reflected none of the paraphernalia on the opposite Western wall, however. Each square displayed an image, a moving picture of some other place far from here. Some, she recognized. Others, she did not.

Distracting her from the entrancing images was a faint but noticeable lighting of the room, which was oddly tinted. Her eyebrows knit together as she glanced about, trying to determine the source of the multicolored brightness. The ceiling eventually drew her gaze, and she almost gasped as she realized the ceiling was not simply painted. Its entirety was covered with polychromatic precious stones; glinting and reflecting light back down below in a dyed form, they seemed to emit their own lighting. Her shock was compounded further when she was hit with the epiphany that the iridescent jewels were the cause of the feeling of power in the air. Nasuada did not possess the ability to reach out with her mind; nonetheless it was evident to her that the collection of gems stored an unfathomably massive amount of energy. They seemed to subtly glow from within, and the air shivered and trembled with the presence of such an immense, potent stockpile.

Thalamir's hand landed uncomfortably on her shoulder, jolting her away from the beautiful sight. While she had been observing the chamber, Thalamir had caught up to Elva and directed her to a large, rectangular table in the back of the room, to which Thalamir was guiding her now.

As they weaved amongst the working interns and the other tables towards their meeting spot, Elva saw them. Her formerly relaxed face hardened into a stony mask, and the silvery star upon her forehead radiated her rage in palpable waves. She felt Thalamir fidget uncomfortably beside her, dropping the hand he had placed firmly upon her.

The three of them gathered around the polished stone tabletop, Nasuada taking a seat opposite Thalamir and beside Elva. Speaking over the hubbub of the apprentices working behind him, Thalamir began, "Now, Queen Nasuada, please allow me to explain the abundant benefits of my proposed 'bridge.' If created, we could—"

Nasuada's hand rose seemly of its own accord, desperate to staunch the flow of words, as she interrupted, "No."

She had expected to hold out longer, yet the mere mentioning of the unknown, foreign land being beneficial to Alagaësia in any way forced her to stop him. It was as clear as fact to her that these two things could not, must not, ever mix, or disastrous things could happen. "Thalamir, I appreciate your time and dedication committed to this project of yours, and I understand your desire to see it fulfilled. But you must remember that I am your Queen. If I decide this shall not be, then it shall not be, and you must respect that decision. Now, if you will excuse us, we must be going."

As she began to rise, Thalamir said a word in the strange tongue of the Ancient Language, and Nasuada felt an invisible force shove her in the shoulders, firmly planting her in her seat once more. She simply stared at him dumbfounded, as he replied with iron-hard determination clear in his eyes, "Nasuada, you are my Queen, and I am loyal to you. However, I refuse to let you leave until you have heard me out. You may then pass judgment, but until then, sit and be silent. No one, not even a Queen, can ignore this plan."

Nasuada tried to stand again, yet unseen restraints, unyielding as Thalamir's steel resolve, bound her to the chair. _What is he doing?!_ Nasuada thought, fighting back panic.

Coming to her aid like a blazing angel, Elva leapt to her feet with such force that her wooden chair flew backwards and struck the wall. Thalamir stood, opening his mouth and raising his hand, ready to imprison her in magical chains, when she spoke first.

"How long have you been searching Thalamir? For love? For acceptance? You have tried so hard, gained so much, and yet still you are completely, utterly alone," Elva cooed softly to him, as the entire room fell silent and all eyes turned to the exchange. Whatever spell Thalamir had poised on the tip of his tongue slipped away, and he shrank back from the sharp words.

"I know, oh trust me, I do. The unquenchable desire to be needed, wanted by others," Elva murmured, mockingly sympathetic, her lavender glare immobilizing him more effectively than any enchantment. Thalamir stared back, agony etched into his expression, unable to conceal the pain her statements caused him. Then, as a seraph dealing the will of heaven upon a mortal soul, she ripped forth his deepest, darkest fears and stabbed him with them, clean through his heart. "Yet know this, Thalamir. You will _never_ achieve this. Fate will always deny you it. Your pitiful life will stretch out before you as a long, gloomy road, and you shall walk it unaccompanied, uncomforted, unloved, until you reach Death at the end of your journey and beseech him, 'Please, end my misery, I beg you!' Then, and only then, will you receive your one and only, first and last, singular act of kindness before passing forth into the void."

Elva spit the devastating declarations at him, and Thalamir flinched violently at each syllable, shielding himself as if he had been struck. With her last proclamation, he could not help but release an anguished cry, tears streaming his face, as he slumped heavily to his knees. Throughout the room, his pupils stared in absolute horror, their faces harshly contrasting with Elva's look of elation and triumph. Nasuada found that her bonds were gone, and she hastily rose to her feet, shoving her chair away. As always, the devastation wrought by Elva's gift made her thankful Elva was on her side.

Nasuada raised her finger into the air, preparing to give an order, when Thalamir screamed, yet not in sadness but in rage. A horrible snarl transformed his face, uglier than a scar, as he got to his feet, shaking with fury. In a voice that was terrifyingly calm, he quietly said, "You said it yourself, my Queen. No one, not even you, can stand in the way of progress."

An unimaginable horror filled Nasuada as she grasped his meaning and intention. "_No! Thalamir, you cannot! Please!_"

He silenced her with another howl, viciously flinging his arms out and shrieking a harsh phrase. The air about him fiercely whipped into a frenzy, and blasted outwards with the force of a hurricane, tossing tables and people into midair as though they weighed nothing more than feathers.

The impact with the wall most likely would have shattered Nasuada's spine, had Elva, sensing the impending danger, not jumped between them and softened the blow. Nasuada gasped in pain, screwing her eyes shut as her head throbbed and her ears rang incessantly. As her nausea began to pass, she hesitantly opened her eyes, and was shocked by the damage produced by the spell. Lining the walls were broken tables, shattered glass, fragmented chairs, and both groaning and unmoving bodies of magicians. In the center was a circular clearing, in which Thalamir stood frozen, his head back and arms held high. Beside her against the Eastern wall laid four young spellcasters, along with Elva, who was ominously limp, her chest visibly still.

Nasuada resisted the urge to scramble to her friend's aid, knowing as Queen she must take control of the situation, and quickly. Examining the magicians closest to her, she saw that one was clearly dead, his neck lolling at a horribly unnatural angle, another was completely unconscious, and the last two were the only ones awake.

The room was hauntingly silent, the only sounds coming from moaning spell-weavers and the faint noise of her guards yelling and pounding on the inflexible metal door. Afraid of disturbing the silence and drawing the destruction of Thalamir's madness, Nasuada quietly crawled to the two stirring interns. Lying by their side, she whispered, "You," pointing at one with no hair, "go assist Lady Elva immediately. You," she turned to the bearded, elder one, "do you know how to scry?"

As the bald man shimmied on his belly over to Elva, the old one scoffed, "Please. My Queen, even the lowest level magician can scry."

Ignoring his tone, she glanced at Thalamir, whose position was unchanged. Reassured, she gestured towards a silver square on the bottom row of the wall they lay against. "I need you to contact someone," she said under her breath.

Nodding his head, he inquired, "Who is that, milady?"

Nasuada paused for a moment, considering who she could ask for help. Harth? The general of her army? Someone outside of the room from Varda abr Vanyali? Mentally shaking her head, she cast off these options. None of them stood a chance against Thalamir, who, as she watched, was casting some unknown incantation—though oddly she could not see his lips moving—while fending off multiple of his magician disciples mentally, who had since recovered and were trying to subdue their deranged mentor. No, she realized, she would need the assistance of a far more powerful ally.

Looking the bearded spellcaster right in the eyes, she breathed, "I know who we need."

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Two things poked at Eragon's mind: What Nasuada could possibly need him for so urgently, and how on earth Arya had still bested him. Despite his better judgment, the latter dominated the majority of his thoughts. As he soared through the air, resting his hands on Saphira's warm neck, Eragon could not help but be slightly frustrated that even now, two decades later, he still could easily defeat the elf woman to his side. Yet as he gazed at her, flying on Fírnen beside Saphira, he simply could not maintain his annoyance or confusion. As glorious as Fírnen's scales were, reflecting moonlight like magnificent emerald stars, Eragon had eyes only for Arya. Her hair poured back off her head as if it were liquid obsidian flecked with sparkling diamonds, and her lithe elven limbs clung to Fírnen's back with ease. Staring in awe, Eragon wondered how a sight so wonderful could exist anywhere outside his imagination.

Just ahead of them flew Kalphog, Jiwëya, Tithrí and Raetha. They flew closely, the dragons brushing their wingtips with every stroke. Once again, Eragon was struck by their sheer size difference. It was slightly comical, for each flap of Tithrí's huge wings visibly buffeted Raetha's smaller form.

He felt the questioning probe of Arya's mind. He turned to look at her again, but her sights were transfixed on the group of four ahead. He lowered his defenses, asking, _Yes, Arya?_

_Eragon, _she thought, confused, _that Kull's dragon before us is…_

Eragon laughed. _Quite large?_

Amusement rippled through her mind. _Well, yes. I've never heard of a Rider's dragon so enormous, or one that got half as big in such a short time._

_The Eldunarí and I thought the exact same thing. Kalphog and Tithrí were one of the first ones to make it here to Riders' hall, but when they arrived, Tithrí was already much larger than Saphira. However, as he continued to grow, we developed an interesting theory. The bond of a Rider and dragon changes both of them, mutating them both into something new, something better suited to support and help their partner. They are both provided with a link between their minds, the Rider is gifted with magic to protect their dragon, and, as we hypothesize, the dragon grows to support their Rider in flight. Of course, since before my amendment to the Riders' pact all Riders were human or elven and relatively the same in size, this theory was not obvious. Yet simple logic supports it; a human would not be able to ride a dragon of Belgabad's size, just as a Kull could not possibly ride a Saphira- sized dragon. If Tithrí grew at a "normal" speed, it would be multiple years before he would be large enough to support Kalphog. In fact, it was confirmed when we saw the arrival of dwarf Riders, whose dragons were significantly smaller than the average dragon bonded to a human or elf._

Arya pondered this for a moment, before sending her agreement. _I see…that makes far more sense._

They touched down in front of the great hall, and Eragon leapt from Saphira, letting her know he would be right back. Arya came with him, and they both sprinted through the doorway into the large, central area of Riders' hall. It was filled with bookshelves and tables, both of which were currently ignored since all the Riders were out for Capture the Banner. Scattered across the walls were doors leading to various rooms, including sparring circles and weapon or armor stores. In the very back of the central area was a glass-covered shelf storing all the Eldunarí. As Eragon hurriedly sent them greeting thoughts, Arya asked, _The Eldunarí are here, in the open? In full knowledge of all?_

Eragon replied, _That was no easy decision to come to. However, the Eldunarí themselves as well as I agreed that, unlike the days of old, these new Riders have no elders to instruct them and teach them other than me, and I am not so experienced as a Rider myself compared to the ones before the Fall. Thus, for the sake of these Riders' proper training and education, we decided to allow the Eldunarí to be known and instruct them alongside me. However, we made sure to safeguard them as well, by placing wards and enchanted glass as barriers, as well as making sure they were all together. Thus, no Rider could subjugate one with their mind, for hundreds more would be able to attack the intruder._

Arya conveyed her understanding. The entire exchange took a few brief seconds, in which they both made it to the door of Eragon's scrying room. With a brief glance at each other, they threw open the doors and rushed inside.

The room was filled with mirrors. Small mirrors, big mirrors, square mirrors, round mirrors, mounted mirrors, mirrors on tables, and more took up the majority of space in the chamber, leaving only narrow paths from the door to other parts. Careful not to disturb anything, Eragon and Arya made their way over to the medium-sized rectangular mirror on the far side of the room, the only one that was acting as a communicator while the rest simply reflected light. As they got to the mirror, Eragon began to notice certain recognizable features in the shifting image. Nasuada was quietly conferring with a bearded magician on the floor of some large room, there was wreckage and debris scattered about, and Nasuada's head spellcaster—Eragon remembered a "T" name…Tharius? Thilby? Tharicson? He couldn't recall—was at the epicenter of the destruction, clearly in the process of casting a spell. Looking up, Nasuada saw him and Arya and her face collapsed into relief. She crawled hastily to the mirror, and whispered, "Eragon! And Arya, as well! Oh, thank the gods!"

Eragon leaned forward, asking, "Nasuada, what happened? Are you alright?"

Waving away his concern, she replied, "I'm fine, honestly. There's no time to explain, however, and I need your help. Can you and Arya stop Thalamir?"

Nasuada stared at him, desperate and pleading, and Eragon closed his eyes, thinking as hard as he could for some solution. A spell came to him, revealed by one of the oldest Eldunarí, which had never seemed particularly useful before but was perfect for their current situation. He quickly murmured the incantation, and all of a sudden the mirror rippled. He smiled, and reaching out with his mind, he felt the familiar touch of Nasuada's consciousness. With the enchantment, the mirror did not simply exchange light rays with its partner mirror, it exchanged thoughts as well.

Transferring this information to Arya, they both wasted no time throwing their minds though the portal and taking in the circumstances. Immediately, Eragon noticed the impossibly immense collection of energy in the ceiling, so gargantuan it appeared almost infinite. The supply dwarfed Eragon's once-filled ring Aren; in fact, simply one gem on the ceiling contained almost that level of power. Next, Eragon noticed that the room was occupied by numerous individuals, of which he only recognized Nasuada, Elva, and Thalamir. Brushing over his friends to ensure they were alright, he breathed carefully, and coalesced his thoughts into a lance, sharpened to an imperceptible point, before launching it at Thalamir with such driving force that not even an iron wall of mental defense could keep him out.

As he ripped through Thalamir's barriers with relative ease—though not as much ease as he was expecting; the man would no doubt be a formidable foe had he been prepared—he quickly absorbed as many thoughts as he could before Thalamir could hide them from him. The foremost was shock, confusion and surprise that someone had made it through his barricades of thought, and then a hundred times that when he realized that person was Eragon Shadeslayer.

Then, with a sensation of horror and dread, Eragon comprehended Thalamir's other thoughts. The man was casting a spell, yes, but it was one unbound by the Ancient Language. The first problem was that the magic was being fueled by the nearly unlimited energies above Thalamir, the power coursing through him like a torrential river. To make matters worse, the spell was unfathomably complex, far beyond Eragon's understanding; lightning-fast calculations and connections fueled by wild and absurd ideas, such that Alagaësia was simply a rock in a black void or that there were other, _different_ places as well, all stacked upon each other like pages in a book. In order to successfully cast a spell with thoughts alone, one must be completely and utterly focused on the subject of the enchantment. Yet Eragon had just mixed and disturbed his thoughts. Thalamir seemed to realize this danger as well, though luckily he was nearing completion, and he struggled to regain command over his mind in order to finish the last part. However, his spell was now irrevocably altered, and tainted with Eragon's presence as well.

The effects could be catastrophic.

Throwing his consciousness out of Thalamir's mind, he mentally screamed at Arya to withdraw, for Nasuada and Elva to take cover, and for the young magicians in the room to protect their Queen.

With one last thought to Nasuada, _I'm so sorry,_ he pulled his mind from Ilirea back to Riders' hall. Yet just as he did so, he felt Thalamir finish, and the spell took hold of reality, warping and twisting it. Eragon screamed in pain as the damaged, unstructured spell included him as a consequence of his meddling, and he clutched his head in agony. Dropping to the ground, he felt Arya's hand on him, and faintly heard her calling his name. Yet his eyes remained on the mirror, and through it he watched as the air in front of Thalamir began to glow an angry purple-blue, bolts of lightning jumped from it to the surrounding walls. With panic, he saw the air before him do the same, though to a far reduced extent. In less than a second, the glow built up to the intensity of a sapphire sun, and with the horrible sound of ripping fabric, it exploded.

The surge of energy though Eragon was so extreme it threatened to ignite his flesh, vaporize his blood, and melt away his bones; within moments Eragon succumbed gladly to the welcoming arms of darkness.

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**Disclaimer**: See the last one. Yes, I'm that lazy.

**Author's Note**: Phew! THAT was long! And yes, the story is just beginning to pick up! Y'all excited?! So, funny story (which is gonna sound made up, but I swear on my life this legitimately happened), you guys remember in this chapter when the magicians create the doggie out of thin air, right? Well, I wrote that on one day, and the next, after years and years of saying no, my parents had gone out and bought us a dog. Yes, I'm serious. I am totally convinced that this story is actually magic now. I'll just have to write in next chapter that they create billions of valid U.S. dollars out of thin air :D

Anyways, same as always, feedback, advice, thoughts, corrections, tips, etc. are always welcome! And of course, thank you for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

The only lighting came from sparse beams of moonlight streaming in through the singular window, faintly illuminating the room in which Balthazar, Tolbert and Owen slumbered soundly. Aileen watched as her team members moved slightly in their doze, observing TJ slumped half out of his bag and lying on his face, rolled her eyes at Owen's stiff, immobile position on his back with his head straight up, and inaudibly laughed at Zar's soft snore.

The room seemed to be a small office at one point, but it had since been quickly transformed into sleeping quarters. The desk in the center had been unceremoniously flipped on its side and shoved against the wall, and chairs, trashcans, and briefcases had been tossed into the hallway. Bedrolls were dropped to the floor, and hastily occupied.

Yet Aileen only slept for an hour or so, before her eyes involuntarily opened and her body refused to settle back to bed. Trouble sleeping was nothing new for her, however, so she noiselessly sat up against the side of the desk and patiently waited for this particular spell of insomnia to wear off.

Staring at Balthazar Adams' relaxed face, Aileen felt her heart jump into an unsteady staccato rhythm. His features in sleep were beautifully serene; far more peaceful than they ever were when he was conscious. The sides of his nose shivered inwards with every rise of his chest, producing a low, rumbling growl from his throat.

Aileen sighed, slumping back, and wondered once again if she was a worthy partner for him. Though many would argue the opposite, including Balthazar himself, she knew deep down that her attractive features could never equal Zar's flawless soul. Of course, Aileen would be the first to say that Zar himself was not perfect; his constant worry and overprotection always managed to grate her nerves. But, despite how infuriating it was, it was clear the reason he did this was because he loved her without requirements or restraints. She constantly went against his requests, blatantly and deliberately shoving them back in his face, and yet his feelings for her never faded.

Not only that, but he was dedicated to his fellow soldiers, and was selfless beyond belief. Zar had told her more than once that his absolute worst fear was heights; nothing in the world scared him more. Regardless of this, she remembered with perfect clarity how he leapt to his feet, before any other of his team members, and jumped from the crashing plane into the dark, fathomless nihility beyond. She shuddered at how incredibly difficult that must have been for him; and yet, he did it. For them.

Most of her other squad members would champion Aileen as the most brave, courageous warrior amongst them, but that was different. For her, battle was a pleasure; a place, a state of mind where all other worries dissolved into nonentity. She also had an unquenchable desire to prove herself, to show that she was just as good as, if not better than, her male companions. For her, war, as awful as it is, was easy.

Yet Balthazar did things he was terrified of, things she could never have done had she been in his shoes, for nothing but simple acknowledgements from his teammates. She reaped in the praise with no effort, and he displayed _true_ bravery, _real_ courage, but was comparatively ignored. Somehow, in spite of this horribly ironic situation, Balthazar was never bitter, never jealous of her, and continued to devote himself to his unappreciative squad.

A single tear traced its way down her cheek. She sniffed and wiped it away viciously, grimacing at her weakness and display of emotion. _Don't cry, you idiot,_ Aileen thought, _that never got you anywhere. Do something about it._

Smoothly getting to her feet, Aileen crept with silent footsteps until she stood over Zar's prone form. Gracefully slipping into a crouch, she reached out to run her fingers through his smooth onyx hair.

The moment her hand made contact with his skin, his arm swung up and grabbed her wrist. Before she could even blink, he had flipped her over, whipped out his knife, and held it to her throat, straddling her. Sleep faded from his eyes as recognition and comprehension took its place, and he exhaled, relaxing and leaning back. TJ groaned from the other side of the room, muttering groggily, "Guys, keep it down, gosh…"

She smirked, ignoring TJ and staring into Balthazar's mahogany flecked chestnut eyes, whispering, "Nice reflexes, tough guy."

Laughing under his breath, he rolled off of her and lay down next to her, staring at the ceiling. "Yeah, that was close."

His eyelids fluttered as she leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "You would never hurt me, Zar, I know that."

At that, he turned his head to the side, and responded, "I wouldn't have to hurt you, Aileen. One of these days you're going to end up hurting yourself."

Clenching her jaw to hold in a possibly hurtful retort, Aileen was silent for a moment. Then, rising to her feet and grabbing her comm and their guns, she reached her hand down to Zar. "Come on, let's go."

He looked at her questioningly, but said nothing. He took her hand and let her pull him to his feet. Without letting go, she led him out the door and into the hallway. Taking a right, Aileen quietly jogged down the passage until they reached a portion of wall that was blown away. They stealthily slid past the patrolling guards, and then, once beyond their notice, sprinted through the ghostly city away from the front line.

Shattered husks of buildings stood on either side of them as they ran, looming over them like crippled, malicious beasts. Light from the stars was their only guide, barely revealing the cracked asphalt beneath their pounding boots. Aileen darted through alleys, between ruined cars, and over craters in the ground, and she could tell Balthazar was struggling not to trip. Grinning with glee, she increased her pace, and the black and white monsters surrounding the couple transformed into shifting grey blurs.

Once they were a half-mile from the building, they slowed to a walk, laughing giddily from the thrill. Finding a secluded courtyard that was still fairly intact, they settled in the grass beside each other.

Leaning into him, Aileen murmured, "Tell me a story, Zar."

A silence stretched out for so long, she wondered if he hadn't heard her. She turned her head to look at him, but his eyes weren't on her. They were unfocused, directed towards the immeasurable depths of space above. Swallowing, he began, "There once was a man by the name of William."

Slightly concerned, but willing to hear out his story first, she settled in to listen.

"William was a good man; no, a great man. A _great_ man," he emphasized. "All his life, William helped people. In fact, that was all he did. He dedicated his life to serving his fellow human beings."

Aileen smiled. "He does sound like a great guy."

Pain lanced through Balthazar's face, and he squeezed her hand tighter. "Now, William had a son. He was determined to raise his son to be a good man, and he never missed the chance to tell him, 'Son, the best thing you can ever do in this lifetime is help another person. If everyone lived like that, Son, the world would be a perfect place, right? Let's make the world perfect.'"

Zar bowed his head for a moment, and then continued, "But the son didn't listen. Why would he give his allowance to that homeless man when he could use it himself to get a new action figure? What's the point of wasting his time to help that woman cross the street if it means he'll have less time to play? Try as he might, William simply couldn't get his son to change."

With a whistle, Aileen shook her head and commented, "Wow, what a brat!"

"Yeah…yeah, he was."

The odd quiet lasted longer this time; all the while Balthazar never looked down. Aileen waited patiently, quelling her itch to ask him what was wrong. At long last, he resumed the tale. "Once the boy became a teenager, their relationship only became worse. On one occasion, the boy demanded a new video game that had just been released, but the father sadly responded that he had just made a donation to a charity fund, and had no extra money. Furious, the boy screamed at his father, saying he hated him and that obviously his father didn't love him at all. Storming off to his room, the boy left William in tears."

Even though she had never met William, Aileen felt the urge to comfort the man, and give that spoiled kid a piece of her mind.

"One day, William was admitted to the hospital, and the boy was told his father would be staying there for a while. On their weekly visits, the boy sat restlessly beside the bed, replying to his father's questions with short, one-word answers, eager to get to the movies with his friends. As the months passed, the boy couldn't help but notice that his father didn't seem to be getting much better. If anything, he was getting worse. His hair fell out, his muscle mass began to lessen, and he received a transparent plastic tube into his nose and arm."

Realization dawned on Aileen, and her heart fell as she understood what was happening to William.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Balthazar sighed, "Then, finally, the boy trudged reluctantly into the hospital room to find an empty bed. Calling his mother, he pieced together, through her sobbing cries, what had happened. Yet tears did not come. He felt sad, yes, but not overly so."

Aileen stared at Zar in shock. "'Not overly so'?! His father just _died_!"

Balthazar said nothing. He squeezed her hand so hard it almost hurt. Eventually, he picked up, "At William's funeral, the boy was upset. He was missing a friend's party for this, and was not too happy about it. Grudgingly, he sat in his seat amongst the family that had gathered, and watched the funeral. The start of the ceremony was delayed by the sheer number of people arriving, however, and as the boy turned to look, he saw people of all types entering the church. Wealthy men in expensive suits, mothers with five children, dirty elderly folks who clearly came from the streets, and others as well began to fill the rows."

"At a later point, after the prayers, people began to get up and give speeches. The boy, who wasn't really paying attention before, slowly began to listen as the stories of these people transfixed him. He heard of how his father was late to work helping a homeless man get some food, how he gave up tens of thousands of dollars to charities that aided dying children in Africa and victims of natural disasters, and how he would pause every day to just have a conversation with a lonely man at a café—who revealed that his father's friendship and kindness was the only thing that pulled him away from the brink of suicide."

"Bit by bit, the boy began to realize that his father was not, in fact, a man who spent his money on things other than his son, or a man who tried to force his son to do tedious, pointless chores for strangers. He was a man who was doing everything in his power to make the world as a whole better than it was. As that clicked into place, the boy had to excuse himself from the room. The moment he made it outside, the tears came in torrential rivers and violent sobs wracked his body as he cried out with grief and shame."

The power of the boy's emotion forced Aileen to cover her mouth and blink away tears of her own.

"After everyone had left, the boy went up to the coffin. The sight of William's tranquil features hit the boy in the gut, and as the fact that his father was truly dead and gone sank in, he dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead to the wooden casket. Tears fell freely once more, and he groaned with the realization that his father died believing his son didn't love him. The anguish was like a whip upon his back, white hot and agonizing. It was then that he swore, to his deceased father and to himself, that he would strive to live his life as his father did, and would always act selflessly in the service of others. He rose, and before he closed the coffin and looked at his father's form for the final time, he promised, 'You will never be forgotten, William Adams. I promise.'"

The last line of the tale struck Aileen like lightning, and she leapt away from Zar, her eyes open wide in shock.

Balthazar didn't move. "If you don't want to be with me, now that you've seen who I was, I'll understand." He subtly but visibly braced himself for her rejection.

This went unnoticed by Aileen, as she was still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that Zar, the gallant, altruistic man she loved, had not always been this way. That at one point in his life, not too many years ago, his character had been drastically different; it was only the result of his father that he was the man he was today. Shaking her head, her hands on her face, she thought, _No…no, he's lying. It's not possible!_ And yet, she couldn't quite buy into that. _Am I truly so different?_ Aileen questioned.

Slowly removing her hands, she gazed at Zar, who still refused to look at her. A quick introspection revealed what she had already known: she still loved him. He laid out the darkest part of his history for her to judge, and she still accepted him.

Aileen walked back and sat down by his side in silence. The grass sent tingles through her fingertips as she brushed them over it. After a minute, she carefully touched his jaw, and gently guided his face and eyes to hers. Looking through the very windows of his soul, and knowing he would be able to see the truth of her words through hers, she told him, "I will never stop wanting you, Balthazar."

His sparking bronze irises filled with relief, and he opened his mouth to respond. "Wait," she whispered, putting two fingers on his lips. The dazzling umber on his face conveyed his confusion, but he respected her request. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, willing herself to be brave like him, and plunged into a story of her own.

"My mom and my dad weren't too great for each other," she said awkwardly. Inwardly she cursed herself for not being as eloquent a storyteller has he was. "Yeah, they didn't get along well. Not a single conversation could begin without it ending in fighting. They yelled late into the night, almost every night, and I could never fall asleep…so, to this day, I have trouble sleeping," she finished lamely.

Zar stared at her in surprise. "Trouble sleeping? I-I never knew…" he stammered.

She cleared her throat and looked away, embarrassed. A hand landed softly on her arm, and she turned back to see Zar smiling. "Thank you for telling me."

Smiling back, she hesitated. _Can I tell him? _She thought. _Should I? What would he think?_ Aileen felt a slight squeeze from Zar's hand on her arm, and she decided.

"Zar, my father…wasn't like yours." His heavy black eyebrows reached towards one another, and she clarified, "Your father was a kind, loving guy. Mine…well, he made it pretty obvious he was disappointed to get a daughter and not a son. Sure, he cared for me, but it was no secret he wasn't happy with what I was."

Memories of harsh words from a screaming mouth surfaced, and she forcibly held back tears. "I couldn't help it; I had to prove I could be just as good as a boy. I'd wrestle, play football, avoid makeup, and do anything and everything to show my masculinity. In fact, that's really why I joined the military in the first place; it was one of the most masculine careers I could imagine."

To her utter astonishment, Balthazar laughed. "Wow, who would have thought. You know, I joined up because I figured I could protect people from our enemies, and live up to my dad's expectations."

The irony hit her, and she cracked up as well. Falling back and letting the grass catch her, she stated, "You and I both entered the military for the same reasons, but different ones…both because of our fathers, but not because our fathers were similar at all."

His response was to collapse tiredly to the ground beside her and sigh. Zar's hand found her own, and they stared up at the stars, lost in thoughts deeper than the void they both contemplated.

_People so often tell me to forget the past and move on,_ she thought, _but how can you when the past has shaped your future? How can you escape something that's made you into what you are? _Should_ you escape? And if not, how could you ever come to embrace it?_

Balthazar shook her shoulder, and she turned her inward gaze out towards his face leaning over hers. Aileen grinned, and kissed him briefly. He pulled away and pointed to the stars, telling her, "Look."

The comet was a captivating point of light, brighter and more dazzling than any of its immobile brethren scattered across the black veil of night. It was larger than any she had ever seen, and she gasped at its shimmering blue-purple tail stretching behind it like the skid marks of a godly automobile. Zar's warm breath tickled her ear as he whispered, "A shooting star, Aileen. Make a wish!"

Yet she could do nothing but take in the blazing sun traversing the wild, pitch-colored expanse of sky, its raw beauty rivaling that of the pale moon itself. Time seemed to slow, unwilling to release the heavenly stallion, and it responded by swelling in size as it saturated with pride.

Zar tensed beside her, and she realized that it wasn't just her imagination; the now-falling star grew bigger as it approached them at terrifying speed, no longer restrained to space alone. Once the meteor expanded past the size of a coin held at arm's length, they both grasped the fact that it was not just falling to earth in the area; it was falling to earth on top of them.

With a cry, Zar leapt to his feet, pulling her with him, and in one massive thrust of his arms, sent her stumbling towards the street.

Aileen whirled around just in time to see the fireball fly down faster than any missile and strike the ground, exploding with the sound and force of a hand grenade. Chunks of earth and fractured cement flew through the air, bruising and lacerating her skin as she threw up her arms to shield her face. The shock wave from the impact was strong enough to knock her from her feet, and she landed heavily on her side.

Coughing from the debris in the air, she felt adrenaline flowing in her blood, and her heart rate picked up. Aileen ignored the pain of her injuries and leapt to her feet, baring her teeth and spinning about to take in her surroundings. _War,_ she thought, _battle, killing._ Had there been a hostile within fifty feet, she would have tackled them to the ground and beat them senseless with her bare fists.

As it was, she knew this was no attack, so she swiftly cast her eyes towards the spot she and Zar had just been. The dust began to thin, and she made out a scene so strange, she had to pinch herself to ensure she wasn't dreaming.

The place they had lain in the grass was replaced by a small crater, steaming and hissing from the explosion. Yet that was not what captured her attention. In the very center of the crater floated a six-foot-tall azure _rip_ in space. Aileen could describe it in no way but to say it was if someone—or, more likely, some_thing_—had grabbed hold of a piece of air, a flat sheet of it, and tore an ugly, jagged hole. It glowed with supernatural energy, and bathed its surroundings in abnormal cobalt light. Its edges seemed to ripple and shift with an unseen wind, and each movement caused a faint but perceptible wave in the air, propagating out into the world. Looking into its mysterious kaleidoscopic depths quickly disoriented her, compelling her to advert her eyes.

"_Aileen!_"

The desperate, grunting gasp for help struck panic into her heart, and she cast around looking for Zar. It took her a moment to see his hand, but when she did, panic gave way to terror. Zar's arm was the only part of him that was visible, and it stretched from the tear, anchored by a small root in the crater.

Without hesitation, Aileen dove forward and grabbed his slipping palm, grasping his forearm tightly. "No! He's _mine!_" She snarled, glaring at the malevolent portal.

Yet the rip ignored her, continuing to pull at Balthazar, dragging her continuously closer to the chilling blue interface leading to unknown places. Crying out in frustration, she struggled against the relentless force to no avail.

Reaching deep within herself, she took hold of determination she didn't know she had, and used it to banish the accumulating hopelessness and give her strength for a massive heave. The violent motion liberated a few inches of Zar's arm, but her elation was quickly squashed when the portal proceeded to swallow it up in a matter of seconds.

Aileen licked her lips, slowly reaching the realization that she couldn't save Balthazar on her own. Pinning his arm under her weight, she released one hand to reach back and grab her comm. It took a moment to turn it on with only one set of fingers, and her shaking muscles didn't help the situation. Once on, she fumblingly contacted TJ, and yelled, "HEY, JOSAPHAT, GET UP!"

A few rapid heartbeats later, she heard a bleary voice reply, "Ugh…whatchawant?"

She nearly exploded, "NO TIME! WAKE OWEN!" When Tolbert worriedly responded that he did, she gave them brief directions to her location, and emphasized the time-sensitive nature of the emergency. TJ confirmed, and went quiet.

The following minutes of waiting were worse than excruciating. Keeping Balthazar from the jaws of the tear was like trying to stop a force of nature; she felt as though she had to halt the winds with her hands, or block the ocean with her body. It was impossible. Inch by inch, the portal mercilessly pulled them in.

By the time Owen and TJ arrived, Zar was completely engulfed and Aileen was in up to her elbows. TJ faltered at the sight, whispering, "Mother of god…"

Owen, however, leapt past him and secured one of Aileen's legs. Leaning back full tilt, veins popped up in his neck as he fought to pull them out. After a split-second Tolbert followed suit, and both him and Owen grunted and gasped, hauling against the rip's hold.

Aileen's face unremittingly drew closer to the portal, and she frantically turned her head away, twisting to the side as far as she could go. Nonetheless, seconds later her cheek grazed the surface of the tear, and she cried out in despair. It felt like cool water without the wetness, and it caressed her face ever so gently, urging her to relax and give in.

A faint, distorted cry emanated from the teal-glowing rip. "_Go! Get out of here! Leave me!_"

The voice was clearly Balthazar's. "Never!" Aileen shrieked.

"_That's an order, goddamnit!_ _GO!_"

Her face sank deeper, and behind her, TJ shouted, "Sorry, boss, but if you're going, we're coming with you!" Looking over her shoulder, she saw TJ look her in the eyes questioningly. She nodded.

Aileen felt Owen release her leg, step around her, and as carelessly as one would dive into a pool, jump through the turquoise membrane of the portal. TJ muttered, "Here goes nothing!" and followed his teammate. With no one to hold her legs, Aileen slid across the charred earth and was swallowed by the floating gateway without a sound.

All was still. Minutes passed, during which the navy tinted brightness of the tear slowly faded, and the entrance itself shrank. Eventually, it reached the size of a fingertip, and with a wink of light, it vanished altogether.

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In the sunlit kitchen of a house out in the rural areas of Oklahoma, Martha Adams was cooking some chicken stew, humming and stirring as she listened to the news. For her, it often served simply as white noise, something to hear other than just silence. But today, something caught her attention.

"…deadly terrorist attack on the nation's capital today left dozens dead and hundreds more injured."

She gasped, pressing her hand to her chest to calm her beating heart. _How awful_, she thought to herself. Pausing her stirring, she turned to the small television behind her table, and watched the story.

The well-dressed reporter sitting at a desk warned, "The following footage was from a live-streaming video blogger and captures today's events clearly, but the subject material is disturbing, and WNSC advises viewer discretion."

The reporter faded from view, and was replaced with a handsome youth talking animatedly to the camera, informing his audience of recent developments in his day. The news agency paused the footage and greyed all of it, save a portion in the upper right corner, displaying a bright speck in the clear blue sky over the boy's shoulder. The corners of Martha's eyes crinkled as she squinted, trying to make out what it was. The video resumed playing, and the speck over his shoulder began to grow in size. Oblivious to the growing dot of obvious importance, the young man continued to talk.

Its size seemed to surge exponentially, and it dawned on Martha that it was not simply a spot in the sky, but rather a fiery object hurtling towards earth. Tears welled in her eyes as she recognized what was about to happen, and yet even then, she could not look away.

A sonic boom echoed throughout the sky, causing people to look up. But by then, it was too late. As the adolescent turned, the house-sized cerulean meteor blurred from the air above to the street below with a sound so loud it obliterated the camera's microphone. The video remained, albeit for only seconds more, showing the teen get blasted high into the air. Screaming soundlessly, the boy reached the apex of his flight, before plummeting back down to the ground. Falling, the camera caught shots of a colossal indentation in the ground, stretching hundreds of feet across, injured and bloodied people, and an eerie, twenty-foot-tall purplish blue…_slash_, torn right in midair. Then, moments before impact, the boy turned the camera back on himself. In the terrible silence, there was nothing to distract Martha from the devastating fear and terror in the boy's eyes, and the heart-rending look of one who knew they have reached the end far, far too soon. And then there was only static.

Martha cried then, cried for the needless deaths of so many innocent people. As she sobbed, the scene on the television shifted to a podium, emblazoned with the presidential seal. Behind it stood the President of the United States. Leaning forward slightly towards the multitudes of microphones, he began his speech.

"An attack of shocking brutality has been executed today against the United States and her allies. Striking at none other than the American people themselves, these foes have displayed apathy of egregious levels. Those who have perished today shall never be forgotten."

He paused, looking down in sadness. A moment of silence ensued. "Rest assured, however, that this act of terror shall not go unpunished. This was a flagrant declaration of war, and America will respond appropriately."

Hesitating, he admitted, "Our enemy clearly has at his disposal weapons and technology that we do not possess. Yet this is only an obstacle; and with the determination and vigor of our armed forces, it is an obstacle easily overcome. As we speak, U.S. troops are being deployed at the…anomaly to engage enemy forces."

He paused once more, and looking into the camera, locking eyes directly with every viewer, he swore, "Justice will be dealt. That is a promise."

A roaring ovation followed him as the President turned to walk from the podium. Martha's shoulders sagged as she comprehended that this conflict meant even more time until her son returned to her, and more of a chance that he would never do so.

Wiping tears from her face, she walked over to the picture of Balthazar she kept on the wall, next to her dear husband, William. Gently, as if holding his very essence in her hands, she lifted it off the wall and cradled it in her arms, cooing softly, "Come home, my son…please, come home."

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**Disclaimer**: You know the drill.

**Author's Note**: Okay, so shorter chapter this time! Hopefully this sheds a bit more light on Aileen and Zar's characters and why they are the way they are (I know I didn't do too great a job showing that in chapter two…). If you're wondering about TJ and Owen (who are still kinda vague, I know), don't worry, I'll get to them! Owen is…interesting. I won't spoil.  
My god, I can't get over the weirdness of me writing a dog out of thin air, then POOF, a real live dog appeared in my house the next day! *shudders* If she wasn't so damn cute, I'd throw her out for creepily showing up like that.  
So yeah, chapter five is in the books! Things are moving along! Conflict is poised to occur! Fun, fun fun :D

Remember to rate for whatever: Advice! Comments! Criticisms! Tips! (I'm totally new at writing literature, so stuff that may seem obvious and simple to you I might not know, so please tell me!)Praise? No? Okay…

Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Opening her eyes, Arya Dröttning coughed and waved her arms, clearing the air around her of dust and debris. Beside her, amidst the rubble, lay Eragon's prone, unconscious form. They both were relatively unharmed from the explosion, as Arya's quick enchantment shielded them, but the same could not be said about the Scrying Room. Whatever foul magic Nasuada's spellcaster had wrought released a great deal of energy, and the resulting blast had obliterated the wall closest to Eragon while also turning wooden tables to embers and silver mirrors to slag. Solid rays of sunlight illuminated the damaged chamber, spilling in from the gap and reflecting off pools of glowing, molten metal. Along with the golden sunshine, a strange ultramarine radiance suffused the air as well.

As Arya inhaled more of the floating ash, she cleared her throat violently, wincing in pain. Sitting up, she reached over and shook Eragon, shouting his name in his ears. There was no response. When she attempted to rouse him for the second time, a wave of exhaustion hit her, and she remembered how taxing her spells had been. The energy required to protect them both had been more than she was expecting. In her arm she was using to wake Eragon, the muscles convulsed once and refused to respond. Unsupported, she collapsed on top of him and, as weary as she was, she had not the strength to do anything but sink deep into her waking dreams. Before she was lost completely, she caught glimpse of a glowing wraith drifting in an invisible breeze, suspended as a giant, sapphire Erisdar in the air.

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Screaming and shouting snapped Arya out of her blissful meditative state. She jumped to her feet, feeling invigorated and rested, though she could not determine what time had passed. With a glance, she confirmed Eragon was still unmoving. Before she could check on him, she heard a faint clicking sound and an oddly accented voice shout, "Freeze!"

Spinning around to face the gaping hole on the wall, she identified the source of the noises. Four strangers were in the rubble-coated grass just outside the building, yet they were unique not simply because of their sudden appearance. They wore tunics patterned with strange gray block designs, and each one's clothing seemed to bulge outwards, despite the fact that they otherwise appeared very physically fit. Even the woman in their group wore mottled baggy trousers and beige boots laced with thread on its front. All of them carried charcoal objects, darker than her hair, which were shaped and textured in ways she had never seen before in her life. The items seemed aggressive and alien, and it unnerved her that she could not recognize them for what they were, not even slightly.

The stranger with piceous hair and Eragon's eyes lay groaning in the field, while a beautiful, fire-haired woman and her larger, blonde companion attempted to help him to his feet. Meanwhile, a short man holding a smaller version of their onyx tools pointed it at her, and questioned, "Who are you? Where is this place?"

Arya could not help but stare, unable to respond, overwhelmed by the sheer absurdity of these peculiar, outlandish individuals who had appeared out of thin air. The man gestured again with the object in his hands, his wiry muscles tense and twitching like restless snakes. "Answer me!"

The new arrival on the ground hoarsely shouted, "No, Owen! Don't shoot!"

Hearing the word _shoot_, Arya realized that the thing in Owen's hands was a weapon. She inhaled suddenly, noting that the weapon was pointed directly at her. Regardless of the stranger in the grass, it was clear this other man was threatening her. Both she and Eragon's lives were in danger.

With a cry, Arya unleashed Támerlein from its sheath on her hip and lunged forward, clearing half the fifty yard distance in just over a second. Pouring every ounce of effort she had into her sprint, she sought to disarm the foreigner before he could cause harm.

The sharp, echoing crack that blasted outwards from the man was accompanied by a sharp plummet in her strength as her wards protected her from an invisible danger. Arya gasped and stumbled, shocked at the force of the weapon; no arrow had ever drained her energy so quickly.

Arya's catlike dash rapidly dissolved into an ungraceful tumble as the reverberating bark permeated her surroundings several times in swift succession. Spots danced before her eyes as she sagged in the grass, muscles trembling. _I must…get up. _Her thoughts were sluggish as well, thought they were hastily recovering. _Too dangerous…protect Eragon._

A distant voice, tainted with panic, cried out, "What the hell?! A whole clip, right at her, and she's still alive! Not a single bullet wound on her!"

Summoning her strength, Arya slowly rose to her feet, looking at the man standing statue-still just mere feet from her position. His lips were as thin and pale as the scar that bisected them as he stared her down with a mixture of fear and determination in his eyes.

Not wanting to trigger the deadly weapon again, Arya attacked with her mind, throwing her consciousness at the unsuspecting man. His mouth and eyes flew wide open, and his entire body went even more rigid than it had been just previously.

Arya ignored the world around her and instead focused on subduing her assailant's thoughts. It was obvious to her that the man had never been trained in mental defense; there were no barriers around his consciousness whatsoever, and Arya dove in with ease.

Peering deep into the stranger's psyche, Arya was disturbed by the unusualness of his mind. His remembrances contained places and people and things that were not remotely familiar, and she gained nothing from them. However, she was able to grasp his love and devotion for his three companions behind him, his value of order and discipline, and his dedication to his country. Yet as she began to wrest control of his thoughts, her attempts to bend him to her will caused other, subdued recollections to surface. The memories contained such raw pain and bone-chilling fear that Arya instinctually recoiled. His mind-scape clouded with roiling thunderheads of rage and anguish, and he physically screamed in anger and pain. As the storm churned and boomed, the horrible retentions of his past, overflowing with unfathomable agony, merged into lightning bolts of mental force which he hurled at Arya with the strength of a berserk Kull. Arya's face contorted in pain under the pummeling barrage of torturous thought, unable to do more than hold her ground in the face of such a brutal onslaught.

The battle went on for ages as Arya braced herself behind her mental shields while Owen howled and buffeted her with the whirling hurricane of his consciousness. Grunting with effort, Arya hastily reached out to try and seize his mind, but it was an impossible endeavor. Like a rabid animal, Owen fought without logic or reason, blinded and driven mad by his own memories and trapped in the throes of his own past misery or suffering.

After what felt like eons of tense struggle, Arya felt Owen's mind become distracted, and before she could attack, someone shook her back into her body. The colors and sounds of the physical world flooded her once more, and she took note of the tall foreigner with sun-bleached hair shaking her by the shoulders. "Hey, snap out of it! This is all just a misunderstanding; we mean you no harm! We uh, we come in peace."

His lively eyes, the same color as Fírnen's scales, scanned the length of her body before returning to her face. A playful smirk spread across his face, and he reached up to run his hand through his hair and wiggle his eyebrows suggestively. "Then again, you and I could go a bit farther than just peace." He winked, asking, "How's that sound, gorgeous?"

Arya's jaw worked open then closed a few times, unable to find a verbal response to his brazenness. Instead, she simply struck him across the face, sending him spinning on his heels thrice round before dropping to the ground.

Turning to look at her opponent, she saw him grappling furiously with the two other strangers. With a swipe of his foot and a thrust of his palm, he knocked them off of him, and he swung around to face her. He marched at Arya, and she tightened her grip on Támerlein, ready to strike at a moment's notice. Glaring at her with a look of pure hatred, he abruptly stopped a few inches from her, pointing a finger in her face. "Stay. Out. Of. My. Head. Got it?" He hissed at her. Without waiting for a response, he swung around and stomped off, settling heavily on a chunk of stone to clean his obsidian instrument of death.

She turned her attention to the two remaining people, the man who had been on the ground and the redheaded woman. He approached her slowly, hands up in the air to show he was unarmed, while she bent to help the one she had hit get up, who was mumbling things about chocolate and sleep. The approaching stranger slowly asked, "Do…you…under…_stand_…me?"

_What an odd thing to ask,_ Arya thought, while responding, "Aye, I do."

He seemed taken aback by her response, and he said, "Your voice…I've never heard that accent before." Shaking his head, he muttered, "But that's probably the least weird thing going on here."

The man glanced at each of his three cohorts to ensure they were alright, and Arya deemed him to be the leader. With this discovery, it was noticeably obvious that they all looked to him—with the current exception of the dazed, green-eyed man climbing from the grass—for strength and guidance.

"So, could you maybe tell us where we are?" He questioned. "We're not entirely sure how we got here, wherever it is."

A gentle hand rested on her arm, and Eragon said from behind her, "This is Riders' hall, the home of the new Riders of Alagaësia."

Fighting to hide her overwhelming relief, Arya mentally asked, _Are you alright?_

_I've been better_, Eragon admitted, _but I'll be okay._

The woman, who had successfully raised her stunned friend, inquired, "Wait, what? 'Alagaësia'? 'Riders'? I've never heard of—"

From the distance, a soft flapping noise quickly grew into a deafening roar that shook the air, and over the crest of the roof flew dozens of dragons and Riders. Yelling and leading the charge was Kalphog and Tithrí; the pair struck the dirt with the force of an earthquake, and Tithrí's gargantuan body blotting out the sun. Moments later, dozens of other Riders landed around the foursome, creating a threatening circle that enclosed them. Blasts of fire, roars of dragons and cries of Riders thickened the air.

The leader's eyes bulged, and he swung up his larger weapon with one hand, bracing it against his shoulder, while gesturing and screaming out orders over the noise. The four grouped together, their backs to one another, pointing their objects outwards at the numerous threats.

Arya felt the touch of Fírnen's mind as he checked her mentally for injuries and growled in his bass voice, _Arya! Who are these people? Should I eat them for you?_

_No! Wait!_ She thought to him, and sheathed her sword, running into the circle waving her arms in the air. She felt Eragon follow her, and she heard him project his thoughts to the assembly. _Everyone calm down! Silence! I bid you to listen!_

It took a minute, but the riotous clamor slowly transformed into a tense hush. Eragon waited, calm and patient, looking each Rider and dragon in the eyes. When it became quiet enough for Eragon to be heard, he shouted, "All of you, disperse! I will explain everything in a few hours. Until then, I expect no fewer than five laps around the isles from each of you. Now go!"

Reluctantly, they one by one took flight and headed away over the sea. Arya watched them go, yet six remained. Saphira and Fírnen had returned with the other Riders, but did not leave with them, and Kalphog, Jiwëya, Tithrí and Raetha—being the most senior of the Riders and the closest to Eragon—lingered as well.

Before Arya could say a word, Kalphog swung his leg over Tithrí's thick neck and landed heavily on the ground. In two short steps he covered the distance between him and the group of strangers, and he growled down at them. They all stared up at the giant Kull before them, and—with the exception of Owen—quailed in fear. The fair-haired man whispered, "Guys, I may have just peed a little…"

Eragon raised his palms, ordering, "Kalphog, stand down."

The massive Urgal snarled one more time, cracking his knuckles, before stepping back to lean against Tithrí, eyeing them threateningly.

It was Arya who decided to speak next. Looking to the leader of the group, she said, "Considering this is _our_ home, and you are uninvited guests, it seems to me that the obligation to explain oneself falls to you, not us."

To her surprise, the leader nodded to her, and with a tentative glance at Kalphog behind him, he replied, "Fair enough. My name's Balthazar, or just Zar for short. I'm team leader of Kekoa 32 Fire team, and these are my team members: Aileen, Owen and TJ," as he pointed to each one. "We just got pulled through a…portal of some kind, and," he shrugged, "now we're here."

Arya's thoughts raced as Eragon spoke to her. "This must have something to do with Thalamir; if this explosion and these strangers are any indication of the situation in Ilirea, Nasuada might be in serious trouble."

The clearing of Balthazar's throat drew her attention back to him. "Now that you know who we are, I think the uh, 'obligation to explain oneself' is on you now," he asked as he awkwardly tried to match her style of speech.

Eragon and she looked at each other, and through an unspoken agreement, Eragon said, "I am Eragon, Master of the Riders. This is Arya Dröttning, Queen of the elves." He proceeded to introduce both Saphira and Fírnen, who startled the quartet with a mental greeting, as well as Kalphog and Tithrí, Jiwëya and Raetha. "There is still much to discuss, but I'm afraid there are also urgent matters to attend to. I suggest us all head to my office, and Arya or I will answer any questions you have on the way."

A similar silent exchange occurred between Zar and his subordinates, and he nodded in conformation. While Jiwëya dismounted to follow, Eragon led Arya, Kalphog, Zar, TJ, Aileen and Owen into Riders' hall.

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When they finally made it to Eragon's room, Arya's voice felt sore from overuse. The group of newcomers asked dozens and dozens of questions, about all manner of things, and Arya was usually the one to answer. Aileen often asked about the weapons and warfare of Alagaësia, Zar would wonder how the different nations were structured and how they interacted, and TJ unfailingly inquired about Arya's own life, to which she responded as vaguely and coldly as possible. Though during the exchange, Arya could feel an unusual bond forming with these strangers, and noticed Eragon relaxing in their presence as well.

Now that they had reached their destination, they all took seats around the circular table at the center of the chamber. The rest of the room was nearly monk-like in appearance, holding only the barest of necessities and completely in order. There were two bookshelves, a small desk with parchment and writing quills, and a trash bin, but nothing more. In the middle lay the only exception; the large tabletop and chairs around it were strewn across with all manner of papers, books and documents, which Eragon hastily cleared away to make room for everyone. Once that was finished, Eragon collapsed wearily into a seat and breathed, "Another world…that's incredible! And to think an entire civilization exists without any form of magic whatsoever, but rather relies on tools and technologies unlike any here in Alagaësia."

As Eragon shook his head in wonder, TJ spoke up, astonished. "Wait, wait, wait…_you're_ shocked by _Earth_? You guys have dragons! And monsters! And magic! And elves! It's like something straight out of Lord of the Rings! How does _our_ society surprise you?"

Arya answered, "Well, we certainly don't have armaments as powerful as those…loud, black weapons of yours."

Raising said weapon, Owen said, "They're called guns."

Zar reached over and lowered Owen's arm. "Let's not talk about weapons or anything of the sort. How 'bout you guys explain to us how exactly we got here? I can tell you know something about it."

With a quick glance at her, Eragon tentatively described who Thalamir was, and what he had done in Ilirea. This was news to Kalphog and Jiwëya, and Kalphog cried out in fury, "That snake-tongued betrayer! He dared to attack Queen Nightstalker? We must ride quickly, Firesword, for I wish to be the one that tears him limb from limb for this unforgiveable crime!" Even Jiwëya's normally serene face was flushed with anger.

Balthazar, on the other hand, simply sighed and leaned back in his chair, visibly reassured. "That's the best possible news! Well, not the attack on your monarch, of course, but the fact that we know the perpetrator. If we were brought here by this Thalamir, then we can simply go get him to send us back!"

Flabbergasted, Jiwëya stood and asked, "There has just been an attempt on Queen Nasuada's life, and all you're worried about how you can go home? What's wrong with you?"

Eragon held up a hand, and Jiwëya blushed, sitting back down and muttering her apologies. When Jiwëya was settled, Arya said, "I think the first thing we should do is check on Nasuada and see if she is alright. We can decide our next course of action afterwards."

A small mirror had been set into the heart of the table, revealed when Eragon brushed away an open scroll overtop it. Aileen wondered, "If you guys don't have cellphones or the Internet, how can you reach a city far away instantaneously?"

Though the words "cellphone" and "Internet" meant nothing to Arya, she understood the question. "Using gramarye. Or magic, if you prefer."

Hearing this, TJ whistled and winked at her. "Ooh yeah, I'm sure you know how to work your magic, babe!" He flashed a spotless smile.

_Are all males from his world this…thickheaded?_ Arya thought, imperceptibly clenching her jaw. Eragon's mind touched hers inquisitively, yet she brushed him off. Despite her irritation, she smirked ever so slightly when TJ's smile vanished with a groan, as he bent over to hold his leg that Zar had just kicked.

The mirror reflected her palm back at her as she leaned over it, waving her hand and whispering the incantation. However, instead of fading into an image of Nasuada, the mirror swirled and danced with a myriad of colors, heating up and throwing sparks, which ignited parts of the wooden table. "Barzul!" Arya swore, jumping back and cutting off the flow of magic as Eragon and Jiwëya rushed forward to extinguish the flames. The other people at the table were likewise alarmed, and Aileen shouted, "I'm gonna take a wild guess that something went wrong there!"

Only Owen kept his cool, emotionless mask, simply stating, "Well done, elf. Fantastic job."

Arya wasn't afraid of Owen; but that being said, she wouldn't deny that he unnerved her. His consistent silence and frequent hostile glares coupled with what she knew was hidden deep within the recesses of his mind made her skin crawl with gooseflesh. Suppressing a shudder, she turned to Eragon, asking, "What happened?"

Grimacing, he stared at the now blank mirror, its silver sheen standing out like a miniature moon on the charred, ashen tabletop. "Whatever enchantment Thalamir created is powerful indeed, and it remains in the area near Nasuada. We are trying to cast our scrying spell into a whirlwind of magical energy, and it can't reach its destination successfully."

Alarmed, Arya said, "It still remains? If it is truly powerful enough to distort a spell cast near it, then we must assume Nasuada is in grave danger!"

"I agree," Eragon responded. Looking to Aileen, Zar, TJ and Owen, he paused. "Hmm…Arya and I must head immediately to Nasuada's aid, but you have nowhere to go. We can't leave you here alone…"

Raising his hand into the air, Zar proposed, "Well, if it gets us to Thalamir faster so he can send us home, why don't we just come with you? Our weaponry could help you."

A giant fist slammed into the table, causing everyone to jump. Kalphog bared his yellow fangs and stared Zar in the eyes. "I refuse to fight alongside you foreigners. I know not of your honor or strength; you would have me trust my back to you? Bah!" He leaned back and crossed his arms.

Jiwëya glared at them as well. "We go to save Queen Nasuada, Master Eragon's leigelord, but _you_ ask to join us only for your own selfish reasons? Not if I have any say in it."

Laughing, Eragon looked at both of them. "And who said either of you would be joining Arya and me?"

The expression on Kalphog's face almost triggered Arya's own laughter. Confused and stuttering, he managed to ask, "W-what? Master, of course we are coming! You would not leave us behind! We can help!"

The cool touch of elven fingers spread across Arya's hands as Jiwëya placed her own over them. "Arya Svit-kona, please, as an älfa, you must understand my need to serve and protect my Queen if she is going into battle. Allow me to accompany you, Dröttning, I beg you."

Arya's eyes scanned the six beings sitting before her and Eragon, waiting expectantly. "One moment…"

Reaching for Eragon's consciousness, Arya projected, _Eragon?_

_I think…I think they are all proficient warriors, and we have no idea what we're going to face in Ilirea. We could use all the help we can get._

A small thorn of doubt remained in Arya's thoughts, and Eragon reassured, _If we get there and find we can handle it ourselves, we can leave them on the outskirts of the city._

_Alright_, she conceded. She nodded at the group, saying, "You all may join us."

With a shout, Kalphog leapt from his chair so fast his horns scraped the stone ceiling, sprinkling the damaged table with chunks of stone and mortar. "_Yes!_ Shadeslayer, I swear I shall fight with every—"

He stopped mid-sentence, fully comprehending what was said. "Wait, master, _all_ of us? I just explained why I cannot fight with these…outsiders."

Laughing, TJ leaned back in his chair and pointed at Kalphog. "Oh yeah? Well, what makes you think any of us want to fight with a big, ugly, horned orc anyway?"

Before Kalphog could respond, Jiwëya leapt forward and slapped TJ across the face. He fell out of his chair and sat on the floor, staring up at her and touching the livid red mark on his cheek, eyes wide open in shock. The tips of her ears burned as she snapped, "Kalphog may not have your 'pretty' face, human, but his heart is ten times as pure as yours. He spends his time helping his fellow Riders further their skills, and learning and obeying ebrithil faithfully. I have never seen him do anything unkind or rude to anyone in my entire life. But you? You've simply made blatant and unwelcome advances on Arya Dröttning, and ignored the seriousness of the situation completely. You contribute nothing to this discussion except offence and embarrassment to its other participants. While your exterior may be beautiful, your inside is disgustingly _filthy_."

Chest heaving, she stepped back to compose herself. After a moment of silence, she calmly said, "Forgive me for my outburst at our guest, master. I shall go gather supplies for the journey and meet you back here at noon." Then Jiwëya turned to walk out the door. Kalphog looked to Eragon for permission, and at his nod the Kull followed in her footsteps.

Still on the floor, TJ exhaled long and slow. "Oh, man…"

Zar got up and heaved him to his feet, hissing angrily in his ear. Nodding, TJ reluctantly met Arya's eyes and sighed again. "Look, I'm sorry about flirting with you…I didn't know you were a Queen! I mean, that's not the reason why what I did was wrong, but…never mind. What I'm trying to say is that I see how it wasn't too polite, and I promise it won't happen again."

Arya held his gaze unblinkingly until he swallowed and fidgeted, sweating. Then she inclined her head, murmuring softly, "Apology accepted."

Beside her Eragon stifled a grin and she resisted the urge to hit him. Clearing his throat, Eragon said, "While ensuring Nasuada's safety is our top priority, after that we _will_ get all four of you home. Vel eïnradhin iet ai Shur'tugal."

The simple promise visibly raised their spirits, and all of them sat up a little straighter. Balthazar replied, "We're very grateful, thank you. And although our first priority is getting back home, until then, I swear we will repay your kindness by fighting for you. Um, vel…anraiden…er, whatever you just said."

Eragon's smile was warm, and he clarified, "'Vel eïnradhin iet ai Shur'tugal' means 'upon my word as a Rider,' which you are not. However, you need not know such a pledge in the Ancient Language, and I would not accept one even if you did. I believe you, and I thank you for your assistance."

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When the sun shone from straight above, casting no shadows and eliminating all shade, the eight companions gathered in the main library area of Riders' hall, while the four dragons waited just outside. Eragon explained to the Eldunarí why he had to leave, and gave them a harmless explanation to supply to the inquisitive students about the explosion and his absence. Due to the immediacy of the threat and the extensive distance from Riders' hall to Ilirea, Eragon and Arya agreed that the only way to arrive in time would be to travel by magic. Borrowing the large amount of energy required by the spell from dozens of Eldunarí, they paired up—Eragon with Balthazar, Owen with Jiwëya, Aileen with Kalphog, and TJ with Arya—and mounted their respective dragons. All four gathered together and touched snouts, and when they were all in contact, Arya called out the spell. With a burst of bright green light, they vanished.

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**Disclaimer**: If you've read this far, you know I'm not CP.

**Author's Note**: Not too much to say, except that I have exams coming up, so I may not update quite as frequently as I'd like to…sorry, but school has to come first! Anyways, hope you liked the chapter, but even if you didn't, still be sure to lemme know what you thought of it! Criticisms are welcome! (And so is any manner of writing-related tips or tricks or pieces of advice!)


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

**Quick AN**: Sorry for the long wait guys. I'll explain at the end of the chapter…

It was the horrible dryness of her throat that pulled Nasuada from her peaceful trance; dust seemed to have accumulated in a fine layer all the way down to her lungs, drawing away all moisture and irritating her skin. Hacking and coughing, Nasuada opened her eyes before squeezing them back shut with a cry. The intense sunlight triggered a spike in the headache that already plagued her skull. She clutched her throbbing forehead and sat up, wincing in pain as it flared up in her left arm, which was unresponsive. Taking a deep breath to brace herself and using her good arm to shade her eyes, she allowed one to crack open ever so slightly.

Though the squint obscured her vision, she still could make out the skeletal remains of several magicians who had died in a circle around her and Elva, protecting them with their last breaths. As much as she appreciated their sacrifice, she could not hold back a wave of revulsion at the sight of a bony hand that encircled her ankle like a bangle of ivory, which she hastily shook off.

The rest of the room was gone, demolished completely and utterly. A hazy fire raged across the street on an adjacent shop, and another was crushed beneath a tower that had fallen in the explosion. Rubble and assorted debris radiated outwards from the center of the former chamber, shaped in perfect rings; it was as though the ground had been a pond and a stone had been dropped, rippling it. The hallways and walls of Varda abr Vanyali's headquarters resumed a few hundred feet away, oblivious to the destruction beside them. Amongst the man-sized chunks of masonry and clouds of smoke ran a terrified populace, filling the air with screams of anguish and panic, harshly conflicting with Nasuada's tranquil memory of the area just hours before.

There at the epicenter of the blast floated an abnormality, a blatant violation of nature and physics that by all accounts should not exist; at the middle hovered what could only be Thalamir's 'bridge.' It was beautiful, and despite its anomalous presence that tugged at primeval fears hidden deep within Nasuada's mind, its gorgeousness grasped both her attention and her gaze. The shifting blues and purples mixing and merging in its murky depths called to her, beckoning her to come closer. In some undetectable zephyr, its edges swayed and drifted like a mirage, though her every instinct told Nasuada this was far from a figment of her imagination.

Nasuada swallowed hard, trying to dull the burning in her throat to no avail, and turned her attention to Elva beside her. The young woman was in no better shape than Nasuada herself, groaning and shieling her eyes with one hand while clutching a long, crimson gash on her calf with the other. "Are you alright?" Nasuada rasped, her voice hoarse from ash and disuse. Elva tried to reply, but her attempt at speech was thwarted by a fit of violent coughs. After a minute, she recovered enough to answer, her voice cracking. "I'll live. Just…give me a moment."

The response was a relief; Nasuada wanted nothing more than to descend back into the welcoming embrace of sleep. Yet something inside her refused to give in, to acquiesce and simply accept defeat. She fought it, struggling to smother that part of her mind, before she realized it was inherent in her very nature; it was something she could never suppress. She had not ever given up, not when her father died and left her in charge of the Varden, not when twists of fate—such as Murtagh becoming an enemy Rider, or Galbatorix set the laughing dead upon them—went against her, or when Galbatorix tortured her in the Hall of the Soothsayer. Even when things were at their worst, she was simply incapable of submission.

Denying her aching body the comforts of rest and slumber, Nasuada painfully got to her feet. As a wave of nausea hit her, she stumbled forward, tripping over a stone and hitting the ground with a grunt. A sparkle of pure violet caught her gaze, and she focused on its source lying amidst the rubble before her. Nasuada could not help but gasp as she laid eyes on the glittering amethyst necklace. Edged with entwined silver and gold strands, the stunning gemstone was attached to a modest looping chain. The piece of jewelry was too perfect to abandon, and Nasuada snatched it off the ground with quivering fingers, placing it gently into a pocket of her dress.

The simple act of standing had drained Nasuada's strength immensely, and her crushing fatigue forced her to slowly crawl her way back to Elva's side, who had since recovered from the debility of unconsciousness. When she got there, Nasuada collapsed onto her stomach, ignoring the sharp rock pressing into her cheek. Elva's hand shook her shoulder lightly, and she heard her say, "Nasuada, we must—"

Before Elva could finish, the rioting crowds in the exposed streets in front of them began to disperse as Imperial soldiers arrived by the dozens. Astride a white stallion that glowed like a beacon in the stormy chaos sat her head General, Octavius Swiftsword. The hardened warrior's storm-grey eyes were already scanning the scene efficiently, analyzing the threats while he absent-mindedly stroked his medium-length salt-and-pepper beard. Around him, soldiers clad in the blue and yellow tunics of the Empire ushered people away from the destruction.

Raising her arm to hail him, Nasuada managed to open her mouth before the indigo gash in space flared up, blasting the eyes of its onlookers with intense azure light. It lasted but a moment, and when the rays faded away and the pulsing afterimage disappeared, Nasuada beheld eight people strewn across the ruined floor who had not been there seconds ago.

_Who are they?_ Nasuada wondered, as they scrambled to their feet. Adorned with oversized headpieces that seemed to sit strangely on their skulls and baggy, grey, green and white textured cloths, the bizarre individuals hurriedly coalesced into two groups of four, and began shouting amongst themselves with words so accented their meaning was lost over the distance and ambient noise. In their hands were sleek, angular black tools, which they swept and pointed at the Imperial Army assembled before them.

Octavius' face scrunched slightly in confusion, before shifting to suspicion and then anger. Clearly connecting the newcomers' appearance with the explosion, he drew his sword and pointed it at the oddly dressed assemblage, commanding, "Capture them!"

_Good, I'd like to hear what their part in all of this is, _thought Nasuada. Forty-odd humans, Urgals and dwarves drew their weapons and charged, shouting for the criminals to surrender themselves. To her right, Elva made a strangled noise and tried to get up, despite her injured leg, and screamed, "_No! Don't!_"

The moment Nasuada looked to Elva, intending to ask why she was so panicked, a cacophony of cracks and bangs crushed the symphony of shouting; each one seemed to shake the air harder than a thunderclap. Nasuada returned to the group of foreigners, and was shocked to see a drastically different scene than she had turned away from: dozens of corpses littered the ground and painted the cobbled street red with their blood, while the eight people directed their stygian objects at the remaining soldiers. As she watched in horror, the things in their hands spit flashes of flame which corresponded to crimson sprays arcing from the torsos of their targets. Only a single Urgal managed to make it close enough to decapitate one of them before quickly falling to their invisible blasts of death.

Elva retched onto the ground on her hands and knees as she was bombarded by the numerous deaths around them.

As the bloodshed died down, the incorporeal gap in the air flared up once more with its blinding mauve light, producing eight more of the warriors—for there was no doubt now that these strange people intended to kill.

With a cry of rage, General Swiftsword swung his weapon back and thrust it forward like a fisherman casting his line, yelling, "Attack! Leave none—" A cloud of dark pink mist burst from his shoulder, cutting his order short and throwing him from his mount, sending the animal tearing down the road.

The army was driven into a frenzy by the fall of their commander, and hundreds of enraged troops rushed to battle, eager for vengeance. All the while, crashing reports from the growing number of enemies' weapons dropped Imperial soldiers in waves. The agonized wails of dying men rebounded off of burning buildings, and sparks of lightning lit the battleground.

Nasuada was so entranced in the hellish fighting that a rough clutch on her upper arm caused her to reflexively lash out. "Nasuada!" Elva yelled in her ear as she caught her punch. Shaking Nasuada again and forcing her to look at Elva's drawn, gaunt features, the young woman hissed, "We have to go!"

Refuge was offered in the form of the hallways behind them. Elva led Nasuada away from the carnage as fast as their unsteady legs could take them. Before they reached safety, however, Nasuada heard a quick intake of breath from Elva, and she followed her gaze until she saw the reason of her distress. Against a blackened wall, unfocused eyes staring into the distance while blood seeped his mouth, lay Harth. A leg of a table kept him upright, skewering through his stomach.

Rushing to his side, Elva grasped his head in her hands and sobbed his name. He coughed, spattering Elva's tunic with globules of dark fluid. Without flinching, Elva held him closer, whispering in his ear. He cried out weakly, and with a listless gesture at his chest, he managed, "…please, Lady Elva, it hurts…I can't…"

A look of such profound sorrow transfused Elva's face that Nasuada almost turned away. Pressing the glowing star on her brow to his forehead, she closed her eyes. Elva held the position, more motionless than a statuette. Then, with movements so fluid and graceful they gave the brutal deed an illusion of harsh beauty, Elva reached down, drew Harth's dagger, and stabbed him in the heart.

The skin of his hand turned white as he squeezed Elva's tightly and gasped, his whole body going rigid for a moment. Slowly exhaling, he slumped back against the wall, loosely maintaining his grip on her hand. His chest rose once, twice…then no more.

Silent tears traced their way down Elva's face, cutting through the grime and plopping gently on Harth's corpse. Worried, Nasuada stepped forward, extending a hand, asking, "Elva, are you…"

With a violent sniff, she stood and wiped the tears from her face, smearing their clean tracks back into grittiness. "I'm fine."

Elva cast one last glance at Harth, his innocent, youthful face unrightfully tainted by the signs of war and death, before snatching the hand of Nasuada's uninjured arm and dragging her off at a jog into the damaged stone structure before them.

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The sudden change in scenery was a sensory blow; in the blink of an eye, Eragon went from gazing at snow topped mountains and inhaling fresh spring air to staring out at an extensive urban sprawl—partially hidden underneath a massive stone shelf—and feeling a frosty gust snatch away his warmth with greedy fingers. Shivering, he pulled his thin cloak tighter around himself, although it did little to shield him from the brutal winds.

Expanding his consciousness to touch each of his companion's minds, he thought, _Arya and I will go first, and we shall call on your assistance if it is necessary._

Behind Eragon, Zar stiffened at the incorporeal contact, and grumbled, "That is so…I don't think I'll ever get used to that." Eragon allowed himself a small smile at that.

_Saphira, are you ready for this?_ He asked.

A deep-toned growl traveled up Eragon's body from her chest as she answered, _Little one, our enemies will fall before us like rabbits before a great hawk. Yet Nasuada is not so fortunate; we must find her quickly. I do not doubt her skill as a warrior, but I sense many dangers await us in the city._

Balthazar and TJ dismounted Saphira and Fírnen, moving back to the remaining Riders and soldiers who were not coming. In the light of a pale, cold sun, two of the four dragons leapt off the hillside on which they had appeared and took to the air.

It was Arya who first noticed something was amiss; Eragon felt her worried touch inquire, _Eragon…are those fires?_

As the buildings separated from a fused grey smear into individual structures, Eragon noticed faint orange glows characterizing certain areas of the city. Then he saw something that jammed his heart up into his throat: three huge towers had toppled, crushing countless homes and markets, undoubtedly injuring and killing a great deal of people. Tracing the towers back to their source, he observed that the rectangular stone building in the middle of the city had a corner missing. When he narrowed in on that one spot, the trouble became evident.

His enhanced elven vision allowed him to pick out the hundreds of combatants filling the streets, some alive and others not. While they were still far too distant to hear the sounds of battle, the sight alone emphasized the chaos. Blood was everywhere, and dead and dismembered corpses piled up by the second.

The most disturbing sight, however, was not the fighting and killing, but rather an unnatural blue slit, two dimensional and shivering. It was as though some malicious deity had taken a mighty sword to the flesh of Alagaësia itself, ripping it open and spilling shadowy indigo ichor forth into the world. Eragon's jaw automatically clenched at the sight of such an…abomination.

_Eragon! _Arya's thoughts felt like a splash of freezing water, and the near-panic in her message focused him. _I cannot sense Nasuada's mind below!_

_What?!_ Feeling his own dread multiplying, Eragon threw his mind outwards, superficially brushing the hundreds of consciousnesses ahead of them, of which not one was Nasuada's. _Maybe…maybe she got away?_

He heard his own doubt echoed in Arya's thoughts as she replied, _Maybe…_

Squeezing his hand around the hilt of Brisingr, he grimaced. _Arya, we cannot give up hope. We must assume she is still alive, until…until we find a body._

_I suppose we should request the others._

A second glimpse of the rampant pandemonium visibly spreading through the streets of Ilirea confirmed her suggestion. _We'll need their help_, he admitted.

Fírnen tilted his wings, swinging back around towards their comrades, and Saphira followed suit. The two Riders shared a brief, anxious glance at one another, and allowed their thoughts to mix as they tried to come up with some sort of plan to save their dear friend before it was too late—if it wasn't already.

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_Pew, pew!_ TJ thought, as he squeezed the trigger of his unloaded carbine, imaginarily blowing away the dandelion fixed within his sights. When the flower was—not surprisingly—unresponsive to his pretend bullets, he sighed and leaned back against the scaly thigh of the purple dragon behind him.

Placing the gun into the soft hold of the grassy knoll they sat on, he rotated sideways to examine the flawless scales of the creature. He ran his fingers over their smooth surface, marveling at the slippery, glass-like feel of them. _I'm touching a dragon._ As the realization sank in, he exhaled heavily and slumped back against the wall of purple crystal. _I'm literally, actually, _really_ touching a dragon! A _dragon!

To be honest, a small part of TJ expected at any moment to simply wake up in his sleeping bag and continue where reality left off. _It has to be a dream_, it argued,_ I mean, a dragon is just fantasy. Like…like vampires, or unicorns, or Santa Claus!_

Though TJ knew no dream was this realistic, and he was not nearly creative enough to think this stuff up. As crazy as it was, he had to start warming up to the idea that he had just been dropped into a game of Dungeons and Dragons. "Ughh…" He groaned, dropping his face into his hands.

A bout of intense laughter made him look up, and he eyed the group of people sitting on the giant silver dragon's tail in a semicircle across from him. The big monster thing had just finished a story, and now Jiwëya, Zar, and Aileen were laughing. It must have been funny, because even Owen cracked a small smile. When it died down, Jiwëya leaned forward and started her own tale, to which the horned giant added to throughout the recounting.

Their relationship was…interesting. They looked so utterly different in physical description, and yet conversely looked so comfortable and happy in each other's company. It was clearly no secret the two were very close; during the telling of the story, they each would even finish the other's sentences. Jiwëya sat on one of Kalphog's tree trunk-like thighs, one foot on his knee and the other hanging off while tilting back, resting her upper body on his abdominals. Both seemed unbothered by the contact; in fact, they appeared to draw security and comfort from it.

TJ scowled at Kalphog—the demon had a name, apparently—and picked up his weapon, fixing the creature's head within his sights and pulling the trigger. A dull _click_ was the only result, and TJ's scowl deepened. The group looked like fun, but he knew he would not be welcome amongst the two dragon Riders, considering he had offended them both. Instead, he sat by his lonesome, wallowing in his annoyance while leaning against a sleeping she-dragon.

Suddenly, an echoing roar hit him in the face and a vast, alien consciousness touched his own. Gasping, TJ's eyes snapped up as he saw Eragon and Arya flying back at speed. _All of you, be ready to fight. The situation in Ilirea is…worse than we expected. _Eragon's mind-voice bounced around in his head, and TJ wasted no time, snatching a loaded clip of ammunition from his chest and slapping it firmly in place inside his gun. He hopped to his feet, and watched the five others across from him do the same, while the great beast at his back shifted out of sleep.

Saphira and Fírnen slammed into the ground, their claws furrowing the soft earth. "Time is of the essence! We must hurry!" shouted Arya, and she gestured to him. The angle of the sunlight cast sharp shadows across her face that emphasized her prominent cheekbones and graceful features. TJ wolf-whistled once under his breath before mentally reprimanding himself. _She's a _Queen._ Get it together, Tolbert._ Deliberately avoiding her piercing viridian gaze, he scrambled up Fírnen's leg and settled onto the saddle. To his side, TJ watched as Zar did the same thing, though Zar said something to Eragon that caused him to smile, while clearly TJ's presence did not amuse Arya in the slightest.

Addressing TJ and his three teammates, Eragon shouted, "Our goal is to find Queen Nasuada! There is a battle occurring between the Imperial Army and some other enemy group. Remember, anyone in a blue and yellow uniform is an ally!"

"Here," said Eragon, waving his hand slightly and muttering under his breath. TJ watched as his uniform shifted from grey and green to the Imperial colors. Satisfied, Eragon finished, "We will let you out on the ground once we reach the city, and you can search then. Nasuada is a tall woman with very dark skin, and she will most likely be dressed in an elaborate, monarchial gown. If you find her, tell her we are in the city, and protect her until we find you again. Understood?"

Everyone voiced their assent, and Saphira, Fírnen, Raetha and Tithrí took to the skies.

Minutes later, the dragons reached the edges of Ilirea. Though TJ had never seen the city beforehand, it was clear the damage from the ongoing conflict was extensive. He watched as a few streets away something exploded, rending the foundations of a small wooden structure and sending it crashing down to the street, spewing burning embers into the air. At the gates to the city, people poured out in droves, panicked and directionless. _My god,_ thought TJ,_ what the hell happened here?_

The main body of the fighting was concentrated further into the city from the spot where they landed. TJ jumped from Fírnen's back and impacted the uneven road forcefully, stumbling a few steps before regaining his balance. Recovering, he unslung his assault rifle from his back and leveled it with his eyes, sweeping the streets around them.

On the ground, they could hear the clashing of warriors in the near distance, but in the surrounding area there was not a soul to be found. Doors swung in the breeze, revealing empty rooms and unlit windows. Carts and market stalls sat abandoned along the roadside. TJ shivered, thinking, _That is damn creepy._

"Wait!" shouted Arya. "What if the enemies have magic users? These four are unprotected."

The corners of Eragon's mouth curved down as he considered the dilemma. Jiwëya suggested, "I could accompany them on the ground, and both protect them magically as well as search for enemy spellcasters."

A moment's consideration was followed by Eragon's consent. "If Jiwëya goes, I shall go as well," growled Kalphog. "Tithrí and Raetha can convoy the two Shadeslayers." He slid off Tithrí's back, and Jiwëya hopped down to the street as well.

The buffeting winds caused by the takeoff of four dragons forced TJ to squeeze his eyes shut and shield his face with his arms. They picked up speed as they rose over the rooftops and disappeared from sight.

"Owen, take point," ordered Zar, starting their usual rotation of who's in front. Owen nodded and began to jog up the street in the direction of battle, and everyone else fell in line behind him.

The noise grew louder, and eventually, even though he knew he must be imagining it, TJ could have sworn underneath the screams there were gunshots. Unsettled, TJ gripped his weapon tighter. _What is going on?_

His unspoken question was answered when the group flew around a corner to face another group of soldiers. Yet these were not Imperial troops; they were clearly from the U.S. military.

Both stared in confusion, unable to react. _What?_ TJ looked at his fellow soldiers, dumbfounded. They_ are the mysterious enemy we have to fight?!_ The troops looked similarly at a loss as to why there were American soldiers standing alongside enemy combatants.

Before a word could be said, a dozen men garbed in yellow and blue leapt from an alleyway and slew two of the warriors of Earth with their spears. As they cried out and fell to the ground, clutching their fresh wounds, the other six spun around and opened fire. Blossoms of deep red bloomed on the chests of the Alagaësian fighters, mixing with the colors of their tunics to create a bizarre medley of hues.

Horrified, TJ leapt forward and grabbed the nearest soldier, shaking him and yelling, "No! Stop!" The action came too late, however, and all the Imperial warriors lay dead on the ground, their bodies pouring out maroon fluids into the gutters.

The Corporal in charge of the unit swung back to face TJ, pointing the business end of his rifle at TJ's head. This caused Aileen, Balthazar and Owen to shout and aim their weapons at the Corporal, and the remaining five U.S. troops targeted them as a result. Kalphog and Jiwëya drew their swords and were about to strike down all the attackers; only Aileen's desperate plea to wait convinced them to hold.

A moment of tense, heart-pounding silence ensued, before the Corporal asked, "What unit are you in? You wear United States uniforms, but in the colors of these natives."

Zar replied, "Stand down soldier; we're on the same side. All we're trying to do is stop this fighting, and find a…friend of ours."

"Then we're not on the same side. Our orders are to clear the area of all hostiles, and the use of deadly force is authorized."

Zar stared back, completely at a loss. "W-what?" He stuttered. Shaking his head, he said angrily, "Alright, without asking the obvious questions, like 'What in god's name are you talking about?' or 'How the hell are the U.S. armed forces in Alagaësia?' I'll just question one thing. How can you justify coming to _their_ land and killing _them_? We're Americans! We're supposed to stand for justice!"

The Corporal's expression never changed. "Son, I don't 'justify' anything. I follow orders. And at the moment, considering you're pointing a weapon at me and my teammates, _you_ could be considered a hostile. You better think long and hard about what you do next."

He wouldn't get a chance. A subtle _whoosh_ was followed immediately by the sickening squelch of arrows impaling themselves in flesh. Three more men dropped like emptied sacks, and the remaining three sprayed the rooftops with gunfire. A piercing scream sounded from the far side of the building, its source obscured from view, which was snuffed out abruptly seconds later as something heavy landed on a wooden stall.

_This is all wrong!_ TJ waved his arms, desperately trying to gain the soldiers' attention. "Wait! Please, everyone stop this!"

Only the Corporal responded, both fear and desperation in his eyes, "It's too late for that, kid! Now, it's just kill or be—"

Just then three Urgals charged from the alley, running full-tilt at the Corporal and his two men. Whirling around in surprise, he managed to squeeze off a few shots before a six-and-a-half foot Imperial warrior cleaved him nearly in half with a vicious chop from a battle-axe. The Urgals were quickly gunned down by the last troops.

The fighting only lasted a few seconds, and as soon as it was over, the two soldiers rapidly returned the muzzles of their rifles to TJ's group. Clearly terrified, and started to cautiously back away. Before they got two steps, Jiwëya raised the hand with her silver tattoo and shouted, "Deyja!"

As one soldier's eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed, Kalphog took one huge step forward and struck the other one violently in the chest. He flew backwards faster than a speeding dragon and smashed into a brick wall so hard chunks of mortar fell to the street.

Zar instantly had his carbine trained on Kalphog's large head. "Why'd you kill them?!" he demanded, furious. "They were American soldiers, just like us! I should shoot you!"

Kalphog roared back, "They killed my kinsman! They murdered the soldiers of the Empire! They deserved to die!"

"What gives you the right to decide that?!" Balthazar yelled, tightening his grip on the rifle.

_Uh-oh. _TJ scrambled forward and cautiously placed his hand on Zar's gun barrel, pressing it down. "Zar, buddy, this isn't the time. We can talk about who deserves what punishment later; right now, let's just find Nasuada and that Thalamir guy, then get the hell out of here."

Zar was silent for a moment, glaring at Kalphog, before he released a shuddering sigh and closed his eyes. His weapon dropped, and a single tear leaked down his face. When he opened his eyes again, he was calmer, but he pointed at Kalphog and Jiwëya, saying, "Just because you have the power of gods doesn't make you judge, jury and executioner."

With that, he turned and began to close the eyes of the soldiers littered across the narrow street. Jiwëya spoke first. "Balthazar, we know this must be…difficult for you, but your past allies are clearly now our enemies. Defending Alagaësia is our—"

She paused, then continued, "Eragon and Arya have found Nasuada. We must meet them at the gates."

"Let's go, Zar," begged Aileen. "Please?"

Picking up a pebble and chucking it down the street, Balthazar relented, "…Fine." He jabbed an accusing finger at the two Riders. "But don't think this is over."

TJ piped up, "I'll take point, guys."

_Let's haul ass!_ He reloaded his carbine and took off at a sprint. The others tailed close behind, and together the companions dashed down the abandoned pathway and out of the war-torn city of Ilirea.

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**Disclaimer**: seetheonebefore…duhh.

**Author's Note**: Okay, so I just finished my SAT II's this weekend, and my final exams are gonna be a joke, so I won't be stuck studying for the next few months. Now, the reason this chapter took so long has to do with when I started this story. When I came up with this idea, I was really excited about it, so I started to write it. It wasn't until last chapter that I reached the end of the pre-planned material in my head, and I realized I should have probably waited and planned it out. I mean, I know where I want the story to go, I know certain scenes that I want to put in (not sure about their order though), and I know how I want it to end. But none of those are planned in detail, and this lack of planning in my entire story is showing through in the form of numerous holes and inconsistencies which I probably would've been able to account for had I taken the time to think this through. But I've already started, and now I'm not even halfway (or am I? I don't know where halfway is) and I'm…stuck. So I'm not entirely sure what to do now…I can almost feel the initial spark that fueled me to write this story beginning to fade in the light of this dumb, stupid mistake. I'm worried I won't be able to finish the story after I've already put hours and hours of time and effort into it…Anyways, if you have any sort of advice for me about writing a story that's been started—but only half of which has been quasi-thoroughly thought out—and the rest is still fairly ambiguous, _please_ tell me. Seriously, anything would be helpful at this point.

With that said, lemme know what you thought of the chapter (praise, criticisms, questions, etc.). That's it, I'm done. Thanks for reading.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

**Quick A/N**: Skip to the bottom for an explanation of the delay, it's a long one…or just read the chapter and then the explanation! Either way, I hope you enjoy :D

Captain Jonathan Matthews stared in wonder as he wandered down the street, transfixed by the strange sights around him. He felt as though he had suddenly fallen back in time by a couple thousand years. Shaking his head in amazement, he slowly made his way towards the gargantuan stone cube at the heart of the city, weaving between flaming husks of buildings and piles of still-bleeding corpses.

As he walked, his elation at the prospect of stepping through space and time quickly crumbled into soul-crushing sadness for the cost in life that was required for him to do so. Just ahead of him, a lone marine stood slumped against the remains of a wall; he could easily have been just resting were it not for the spear pole protruding from his stomach. In the silence, the soft dripping of his fresh blood impacting the stone street was clearly audible. A moist maroon trail traced its way from the man's lips down his torso, thinning out as it went, until it reached the wound in his gut, where it received new vigor and swelled into a thick river, damp and trailing down his legs. The culprit lay face down a few meters away, riddled with bullet holes. The creature looked as if it were spawned directly from the deepest pits of hell, fashioned by Satan's own hand; it was at least eight feet tall, had a pallid, bristly hide and possessed a pair of curly horns spiraling from its massive skull. Jonathan's hands clenched tightly. _These murderers must face justice._

Forcing himself to turn away from the gristly scene, he took a short detour and within a few minutes found himself at the corner of a great, tower-topped structure. Or, what used to be a corner; the entire room had been blasted apart, leaving the space open to the surrounding area. It was currently filled with house-sized tents, including a larger than average one in the center, characterized by a faint blue glow that permeated the thin tent walls. The Captain strode forward and brushed the entrance flap aside, stepping into the makeshift chamber.

At once, the sight of the shimmering azure anomaly snatched his breath away. It seemed so surreal, so impossible, and so dreamlike that there couldn't be any way it was truly there; they must all simply be imagining it. But he knew it was in fact very real, since he himself traveled through it to get here. All around it were tables, computers and various expensive devices that were in turn encircled by droves of scientists, yelling to be heard over each other.

"Captain Matthews!" A deep voice permeated the oppressive blend of shouts, and Jonathan turned to see General Nashmir approaching, flanked by his four Colonels. Jonathan quickly straightened up and saluted the ranking officer. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

Nashmir returned the solute and said, "At ease, soldier." Jonathan relaxed slightly, softening his posture and clasping his hands behind his back. "And yes, I did. Come, follow me."

The General led the group out of the main tent, and they walked to a smaller, adjacent one. He sauntered in, and Jonathan followed quickly behind. The inside of the tent was far emptier than the previous one, containing only a long, rectangular table and accompanying chairs. Nashmir took a seat at the head of the table and gestured to a spot just to the left of him, where Jonathan walked to. After everyone was seated, Nashmir cleared his throat and started, "Captain, let me begin by expressing the depths of my admiration and gratitude for your actions today. You led your company with unwavering courage, despite being the first ones to enter the anomaly and having no idea what you were going up against. I commend you for your daring endeavor."

Jonathan's heart swelled with pride at the praise; he swallowed and nodded, replying softly, "Thank you, sir."

Nashmir smiled and leaned back in his chair. "I know this is highly irregular and unprecedented, but considering the magnitude of your acts of valor and the exemplary leadership you displayed in such unusual circumstances, I feel it is in the best nature of this campaign that I take an executive action."

"Oh?" Jonathan said, surprised, "And what might that be?"

"Son, I'm promoting you to Lieutenant Colonel."

The news struck Jonathan like a slap to the face, leaving him stunned and confused. "S-sir?"

One of the Colonels seated beside him reached over and patted him on the shoulder. "Congratulations, Lieutenant."

Quickly regaining his senses, Jonathan allowed a large grin to creep across his face. "Thank you sir, this is…incredible. Thank you!"

The General pointed at him and said, "You'll be put in charge of a new battalion in the 501st Infantry under Colonel Sanders there," directing his attention to a nearly-bald man on the opposite side of the table. "This will take effect in exactly twenty four hours. Report back here at that time. Until then, you are free to go."

Thanking him once more, the newly appointed Lieutenant Colonel stood and headed for the exit. A nagging question caused him to slow, and then turn back to the assembled officers. "Sir?" Jonathan asked, "If I may…and not to question you or any of the Chiefs of Staff, but…how did you know the anomaly was safe to enter? For that matter, how did you even know it would lead somewhere?"

Some sort of silent communication occurred between the men seated around the table. Colonel Sanders spoke up quietly, "General, he's moving up the ranks quite rapidly. He's proven himself rather capable and responsible, and he'll be privy to this information relatively soon at this rate. There's not much harm in telling him now."

General Nashmir sat silently for a full minute. Finally, he rose and ran a hand over his face, before smiling and saying, "There was once an island, covered with nothing but vegetation and a few deer."

It wasn't quite the response Jonathan was expecting, but nor did it sound like a complete answer, so he made his way back to his seat. The General waited until he was settled to continue.

"Not a single predator shared their little isle, so the deer were free to live their lives in peace. They ate and mated for years, and their numbers swelled exponentially. Then, one fateful year, a drought killed off much of the plant life. As a result, thousands and thousands of deer died slow, painful deaths from starvation."

A pause ensued. "Lieutenant, do you know the number one problem our species must face in the coming future?"

"Uh…" Jonathan struggled to grasp the correct answer. "Global warming?"

The corners of the General's lips turned slightly upward. "Population, son. The earth has a finite amount of resources and space, and the human race is using them up faster and faster every year. There are billions of us inhabiting the planet, and there are billions more on the way. And you know what will happen when there isn't enough for everyone?"

Jonathan took too long trying to think, so the General answered his own question. "War. Death. Chaos. Anarchy. Quite literally, the apocalypse. Naturally, we attempted to find ways to avoid this. One of the first means we looked into was the possibility of parallel universes. Yet the project ended in failure; we could not navigate the multiverse without bending the laws of physics. So, we put the data and research in a folder and filed it away, and moved on to other possible solutions, such as space travel. Yet to this day none of these initiatives have succeeded. Thus, you can imagine our surprise when the physical manifestation of our hypothesized MDTB—Multi-Dimensional Traversal Bridge—appeared in front of us in the nation's capital. All of its calculations and behaviors matched up flawlessly; we knew this was created by someone in a parallel universe and that it was a portal leading directly back to them. Thus, knowing the nature of the anomaly, we sent our military through with the utmost haste."

Jonathan's eyes widened as the General explained. "My god...wait, General that would mean…that would mean it was _not_ an attack! They were simply trying to do the same thing we were! But then why are we at war?...Ah, because _we _invaded_ them_!" Slapping his forehead, he shouted, "This is all just a huge misunderstanding!"

Leaping to his feet, eyes sparkling with excitement, "It's not too late sir! We can contact their leader and end this now, before any more blood is shed!"

Nashmir simply stood there and stared at Jonathan as if he had lost his mind. His face contorted into a mask of anger and he roared, "Boy, have you not been listening to a word I've said?"

Jonathan stepped back in surprise. "I…I don't underst—"

"The number one problem, Lieutenant. _This_ is our solution."

Confused, Jonathan asked hesitantly, "I'm afraid I still don't follow…"

Spreading his arms wide as though for an embrace, he articulated, "This is a whole, entire new world. A world filled with land and resources."

Understanding dawned on Jonathan's face, but he argued, "Sir, this world isn't empty. There are natives living here."

A booming laugh filled the canvas-walled space. "That's exactly why we're clearing them out!"

"What? You can't do that!"

With a soft chuckle and a shake of his head, the General questioned, "And why not?"

Jonathan shouted, "It's unethical!"

"And that's where you're wrong, son." Nashmir turned away from Jonathan to look at the far side of the tent. "It's actually a moral obligation. Darwinism tells us that survival is only for the fittest. This is nature at its purest; the weak make way for the strong." With another laugh, he pointed out, "Hell, America wasn't empty when we got there either! It was filled with savages. Yet we got rid of them to make way for the great civilization that exists today. History repeats itself, and for good reason. This can't be avoided, Lieutenant."

"With all due respect, that's where _you're_ wrong." Jonathan balled his hands into fists at his sides. "I will _not_ let you do this. We're better than this. I'll be leaving now, and I'll be sure to make sure this is stopped. The American people will never stand for it, and I'm sure the press would be more than willing to deliver this information."

Nashmir sighed heavily. "So much potential…it's a shame, really."

With that, the General turned around and shot Jonathan in the head.

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_It had to be done._ Nashmir sprinted forward and drew Jonathan's weapon from its holster, fixed it in Jonathan's limp hands, and forced the corpse to fire the weapon towards Nashmir's previous location.

"Dear god, are you insane?" screamed Colonel Sanders, scrambling out of his chair.

"No, not remotely." The General straightened, and glared at the speaking Colonel. "Lieutenant Colonel Matthews was overwhelmed by the pressures of this operation, and sought to release his anger by taking my life. In an act of self-defense, I shot and killed Lieutenant Colonel Matthews. Am I understood, Colonel Sanders?"

"Not at all! You murdered him!"

Nashmir hissed, "Must I remind you what's at stake here? We're talking about the survival of our race, our culture, our society. The very future of human life as we know it. And I will _not_ let a naïve youth destroy this opportunity simply because his so-called moral compass was stronger than his sense of duty. For the sake of the mission, Lieutenant Colonel Matthews could not have been allowed to leave here with the information provided to him—provided, as I seem to recall, under your suggestion. So I ask again, am I understood?"

Before Colonel Sanders could respond, half a dozen Military Police burst through the flap with their weapons drawn and trained on the occupants of the room. "Nobody move!"

Slowly raising his hands and dropping his gun, Nashmir explained, "Sergeant, we have had a most disturbing encounter." He proceeded to tell the MP in-charge what had transpired. "We have both the guns as evidence, along with four witnesses, not including myself. Correct, Colonels? You saw what happened?"

A moment of tense silence ensued. Each Colonel looked at each other, none of them willing to be the first one to speak. The Sergeant narrowed his eyes.

"Yes," said Colonel Sanders through clenched teeth. "Yes, we did."

"Until we know for certain what occurred here, you're all coming with me," the Sergeant growled.

The five other Military Police proceeded to take out their handcuffs and approach the suspects. Sighing, Nashmir lowered his arms and walked up to the Sergeant.

The MP tightened his grip on his gun. "Hey, I said don't move, god damn it!"

Nashmir never paused in his stride. He stopped directly in front of the man and casually brushed the pistol barrel out of his face. "Let me explain something to you, Sergeant. I am the Officer in Theatre; I'm in charge of this whole operation. Each of these Colonels commands the regiments of this invading force just under me. We're the backbone of the campaign. Now, you could take us into custody and disrupt our nation's chances of victory, and that is fully within your rights. But I am warning you, the repercussions will be _severe_. So, Sergeant, use some common sense, take away the body, and we can deal with this little mishap at a later time, hmm?"

The Sergeant swallowed and nodded. He gestured at his fellow MPs, ordering, "Stand down, leave them alone."

Nashmir smiled. "You may go now, Sergeant."

The MPs filed out, taking the corpse of Lieutenant Colonel Matthews with them.

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If Eragon was completely honest with himself, he would have to admit a large part of him thought Nasuada was long gone. As such, one could imagine his surprise when he and Arya found her and Elva very much alive, running through the streets and alleyways of Ilirea. Raetha and Tithrí fended off the strange enemies while Saphira and Fírnen landed and picked them up. Eragon threw out a mental shout to Jiwëya or Kalphog, letting them know that Nasuada had been found and for everyone to leave immediately. With that, they all took to the skies and flew hastily towards the gates of the city.

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_Where are they?_ Eragon thought, chewing on his lip. _It's been quite some time…_

_Eragon,_ Saphira thought to him softly, _worrying will not help them._

He felt Nasuada chuckle behind him. "What on earth could you find amusing right now, Nasuada?" Eragon inquired, with no attempt to conceal his rising panic.

She laughed again, and replied, "Simply the absurdity of all this…You, the master of the Riders, and Arya, the Queen of the elves, along with two other dragons are somehow here to help me fight an unknown enemy—which, adding to the ridiculousness, appeared out of thin air."

"Absurd, yes," Eragon conceded, "but not amusing."

Saphira sat a few leagues from the gates of Ilirea, where Imperial soldiers were still retreating from. To his left, Eragon saw the growing crowd of troops tending to the wounded and looking for friends. On the opposite side of the group lay Fírnen, on which Elva and Arya kept watch over the assemblage. At the rear, Tithrí and Raetha stood guard as well.

Minutes passed, and the stream of warriors escaping the city thinned, then faded altogether. There was still no sign of their companions. Eragon tried to cast his mind outwards to sense their location, but the distance was too great. He gritted his teeth and stared intently at the unchanging exit.

_Arya, we have to do something!_ Eragon insisted, brushing her consciousness with his.

_We cannot, Eragon, you know that. We must protect Nasuada from any—_

Her train of thought was cut short by a soldier on the edge of the group whose head burst apart, throwing chunks of gore in all directions. As he collapsed, an echoing crack reached them from across the field.

"Everyone, find shelter!" Eragon cried, but even as he said it, he knew it was futile. The flat surroundings offered no protection from the ensuing attack. _Saphira, we have to save them, or they'll all be killed!_ Even as he said it, a patch of dirt near an Urgal soldier erupted into the air and a scream of pain tore from the throat of a man whose shoulder burst into a bloody mess.

Saphira's response was to unleash a massive roar that would trigger the deepest, primeval fears of any enemy and blast the air with a blistering pillar of flame. Eragon grinned fiercely, and turned to Nasuada behind him. "You must dismount; we cannot take us with you!"

She simply nodded and slid down Saphira's leg, landing softly in the grass. "Good luck," she said.

Eragon reached out to Arya, asking, _Will you join us?_

_It would not be wise,_ she responded, _We should have at least one Rider here to defend Nasuada and these soldiers._

_Very well,_ Eragon agreed reluctantly. An Urgal beside him groaned and fell as a hole suddenly appeared in his abdomen. A harsh, booming report resounded a split-second later.

_Wait._ A quiet but firm voice reverberated in Eragon's head. _If you think you can go save my Rider without me, then you do not know me at all, ebrithil._

_Me as well, Shadeslayer. We shall accompany you._ A soft, seductive voice purred, joining the other one.

Looking behind him, he saw the two Rider-less dragons leap into the air and make their way towards the city wall. Eragon drew Brisingr and Saphira flapped her wings in powerful strokes, propelling them into the sky.

The three dragons flew with haste, and the wind threatened to tear Eragon's cloths away from him. He felt a noticeable pitch in his strength as his wards deflected an unseen projectile, accompanied by its characteristic pop.

With a grimace, he urged Saphira to go faster. He gasped as three invisible missiles drained his energy, and he slumped in the saddle as spots danced across his vision.

_They're so powerful! We won't make it if we do not act now,_ he warned Saphira.

Her growl shook his body. _These invaders think they can so easily defeat a queen of the skies? Time to show them what a dragoness can _really_ do._

Saphira launched a mental cry to her two pupils. _Tithrí, Raetha, use evasive techniques! Remember to use the thermals and cloud cover to your advantage!_

_We know, __Bjartskular__,_ replied Raetha amusedly, _we are no longer hatchlings._

A higher-pitched roar sounded beside Eragon, and Raetha tucked in her wings, plummeting faster and faster before snapping her wings out and rocketing up into the clouds. Eragon laughed as Saphira barrel-rolled, looped, twirled and dove in intricate patterns, making it near impossible to follow her with one's eye, let alone target her with a weapon.

Extending the reach of his consciousness to its very limits, Eragon waited until they were close enough for him to feel the minds of his attackers. He reached into one, assuming control and forcing the man to kill the other enemies around him. As soon as his avatar was slain, Eragon grasped another, and in that fashion quickly cleared the top of the wall.

The threat removed, they resumed their approach without any complex flying to inhibit their speed. Yet Eragon still did not see any hint of his companions. _Please, let them be alive…_

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Balthazar swore as a sniper round blew away another chunk of the wooden wall they were all hiding behind. He shouted, "Get down!" despite the fact that there was no way for them to get any lower.

They had decided to assist the retreating Imperial troops escape the city before they left it, but even though they had succeeded in doing so, now they themselves were trapped, and in bad shape. Owen was shot in the calf, Zar had a broken nose from a bad hand-to-hand combat encounter, and Jiwëya was passed out and being carried by Kalphog, who was too exhausted to work any more magic.

In what was to be a temporary stop to recover and heal transformed into a very permanent stay when they were ambushed. Surrounded, they fortified their position with broken stalls and carts that littered the street and struggled to fight back without killing—Zar refused to murder a fellow serviceman.

Wood shards flew everywhere as dozens of troops opened fire on the last remaining defenders of Ilirea. "Ahh!" Owen shouted, dropping his carbine as a bullet shredded his triceps. With a grunt of pain, he fumbled to pick up his weapon left-handed and pushed the tip through a hole in their wooden barriers, spraying the rest of his clip into the street as suppressing fire.

Zar yelled, "Owen! Are you—?"

"I'm fine!" he snarled, pulling his gun back and holding it still with his foot while he reloaded it.

_We need to get out of here,_ thought Zar. Turning to Kalphog, he asked, "Can you heal his arm?"

The Kull was panting and dripping blood, his wards long since gone. Ragged bullet holes dotted his arms, legs, and torso. "No," he growled, "I have not the strength to heal myself!"

A blockade to their left was ripped apart as a grenade detonated, and a squad of four soldiers ran into their small enclosure. With a great bellow, Kalphog jumped forward, snatching one by the leg and using the man as a flail to smash his three companions. The encounter was short and bloody; four new corpses lay on the ground, one missing a leg that Kalphog still held in his massive fist.

"Hey!" Zar screamed, "I said not to kill anyone, you god forsaken monster!"

Kalphog simply groaned and fell to the ground. Zar immediately regretted his harsh words when a puddle of blood formed worryingly fast around Kalphog's prone form.

_You had better get over this moral dilemma soon, Balthazar Adams. _Kalphog's mind-voice echoed in his head. _They are trying to kill us, and we will never defeat them if we do not return the favor. However, if your wish is to die here, then you…_

"Kalphog?" Zar asked hesitantly. "Kalphog!" He dropped his gun and ran towards the fallen Kull.

Before he could check on the large Urgal, another soldier ran through the hole and pointed his rifle directly at Zar. He froze, unable to do anything. Yet as the soldier squeezed the trigger, a woman with short, fiery hair leapt between the barrel and Zar.

Time seemed to slip into slow motion. He saw her in mid fall, her mouth open in a soundless scream and a sparkling arc of blood stretching from her gut. He couldn't move, he couldn't speak, he couldn't do anything but watch the girl he loved collapse at his feet, her life flowing out of her body in a crimson stream.

The barrel lowered, the soldier clearly intending to finish Aileen off. _No. No,_ he thought, _stop._ But the man didn't stop; he continued to line up the shot.

_Oh god._ Zar realized his one option. In a quick, practiced motion, he drew his sidearm and shot the man between his eyes.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, tears budding in his eyes. Zar dropped to his knees and retched onto the street. As soon as the heaves disappeared, he crawled to Aileen's side. She groaned softly. Her eyes were closed and her face was deathly pale.

"Help," he croaked. When no one responded, he screamed, "Someone help her! She's been shot!"

Zar looked up to see TJ firing, his eyes wild as he desperately trying to inflict non-lethal wounds left and right, and Owen pushing a wooden board over to cover the gap with one arm, his other in a makeshift sling. Owen looked up and said, "Boss, we've all been shot. Aileen's tough, she'll hold out until we get out of here…or rather, _if_ we get out of here…"

All around him, their enclosure was being torn to pieces by explosions and bullets. Jiwëya, Kalphog, and now Aileen lay incapacitated, and Owen was in no shape to fight. _I've killed us,_ he realized as he threw off his vest and shirt, using the piece of clothing to try and staunch Aileen's bleeding.

Owen had just finished pushing the board in place when two other carts that made up their barrier shattered, and soldiers poured in. _And this is the end. _Zar held his shirt on Aileen while pointing his pistol at the swarm of enemies, but knowing it was futile. He closed his eyes, awaiting the inevitable.

Gunshots sounded, but he felt no pain. Surprised, Zar opened his eyes to see the mass of troops in front of him firing at each other. _What…?_

An earth-shattering roar blasted across the sky, and Zar yelled with elation, laughing with unadulterated relief. Kalphog sat up with a gasp, breathing, "Tithrí…"

As if responding to the call, the great silver dragon swooped across the sky and landed on the street heavily, shaking the ground. Kalphog got to his feet, whispering words of power under his breath as his wounds shrunk and disappeared.

Tithrí roared again and blasted a whole row of soldiers with red and orange flames, which, coupled with his size and the approaching forms of Saphira and Raetha, convinced the remainder of the troops to retreat into the city.

_Balthazar!_ Eragon shouted in his mind. _Are you and your companions alright?_

"No!" he responded desperately, "Aileen is dying! We're all torn up!"

A small hand touched his shoulder, and he turned to see Jiwëya smile and say, "I will tend to your lady, Balthazar; the arrival of my dragon has given me the strength to do so. Get the rest of your friends to Tithrí."

Reassured, he nodded his thanks and relayed the order to Owen and TJ, who obeyed with pleasure. As soon as Jiwëya finished the healing, Zar helped Aileen onto Raetha before climbing into Saphira's saddle right behind Eragon.

"You're timing couldn't have been better," Zar told him. "We were almost done for!"

With a soft smile, Eragon replied simply, "I'm glad we got here in time. Now, let us be off."

Saphira hummed, and launched them into the air with a flap of her powerful wings. The other two dragons followed suit. As they sailed away from the burning capital, Eragon thought to all of them, _You four have a great deal of explaining to do._

Sighing, Zar answered, "I can't promise you I'll have all the answers, but I'll do my best. You guys have some things to answer for as well."

_Silence._ Tithrí commanded. _There will be time for that later. Right now, however, everyone is weary and injured from hours of battle, and the only thing warranted at the moment is peace and quiet._

Acknowledging the wisdom in the dragon's words, Zar allowed his eyes to close and his mind to drift away into the familiar embrace of sleep.

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**Author's Note**: Okay, so there was a big, huge, long delay between this chapter and the previous one. Allow me to explain, since there are a number of reasons:  
- Plot. Didn't really have a solid, planned out one, so I had to figure that out before I could keep writing.  
- Internship. Started a summer internship with a Fire Protection Engineer at the Smithsonian (Surprisingly, my actual career choices lay in pretty much the opposite direction of writing! Its more of a hobby than something I'm hoping to do professionally), so that's been keeping me pretty darn occupied.  
- Family Emergencies. Its been really shitty these past few weeks, not gonna lie. I got to see three ambulances take away loved ones from my house in the short span of about a month. Awful doesn't even begin to describe it…so yeah, that's been keeping be busy too.  
- NaNoWriMo. Haven't heard of it? OMG GO READ ABOUT IT WTF ARE YOU WAITING FOR ( en/about). So, I found out about this and was very interested, but I didn't know what to write a novel about, so I put it aside for a while. Then (this sounds like something out of a movie, but I swear it happened) I had a dream. I had a dream that inspired a perfect story, and when I woke up I wrote it down immediately, but stuff kept flowing. Characters, sub-plots, world features, etc. were just spilling from my head like word vomit, and I had to get it down before I forgot it, so that took up a good couple days. (Oh yeah, if you're interested in participating in NaNoWriMo with me, PM me! Wrimos gotta stick together, so if I'm all like, "Dude, I can't do this…" someone can step in and say, "Sure ya can, pal!" or vice versa!)  
- Audience. To be honest, I just didn't think a lot of people cared about this story…and really, compared to the number of readers of a best-selling book, not a lot of people do care about this story. But I realized that regardless of the number, I have a responsibility, an _obligation_ as an author to provide for anyone and everyone who has shown me support (even if its just one person!). I don't say or show this enough, but for all of you who have stuck with this tale—despite its numerous plot holes, inconsistencies, and novice-ness—THANK YOU. It means more to me than I could ever put into words.

And as always, any criticisms, praise, suggestions, questions, tips, or you-name-it are completely and totally welcome, so don't be afraid to send me them! Thanks again for reading! You're all awesome! Next chapter will not take nearly as long, I swear!


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Owen closed his eyes, clenching his fists and inhaled deeply as he tried to ignore the loud voices around him. _I don't like yelling._

"You're nothing more than a _murderer!_ You killed them in cold blood!" Zar shouted in Kalphog's face, unfazed by the giant creature's harsh glare.

"It wasn't murder! It was _justice_! _They_ are the murderers; they deserved to die!" argued Jiwëya, punctuating her words with the smack of her fist into her palm.

Groaning, Owen slowly massaged his temples. The debate had been going on for almost an hour now, ever since they got back from the city and Eragon and the elf left them to go find the Queen. Practically the very moment they left, Zar made some angry comment to Kalphog, and the Kull exploded at him.

Aileen and TJ were trying to mediate the dispute, but they both tended to side with Zar over the two Riders, further widening the rift. The Imperial soldiers in the vicinity had long since moved elsewhere, creating a large, empty space in the middle of the gathered troops as the shouting grew ever more heated.

"How do we even know we can trust you? You clearly support the enemy, and are loyal to them! Even a fool could recognize you as nothing more than a false ally!" Kalphog spat at him. "Why don't you leave us and go help your beloved invaders? I can promise you will not be missed!"

"What's that supposed to mean?!" Zar challenged.

Kalphog scoffed at him, "I know Urgals that are deaf, blind, and dumb, and _still_ surpass your prowess as a warrior. Such weak beings have no place in an honorable army."

At this, Owen paused. _No._ He felt his face twist into a snarl. _No. You can call me a murderer, a traitor, and even a liar, but _nobody_ calls me a weakling._

He straightened up and walked over to where Kalphog and Zar stood and tapped Zar on the shoulder. "Sir, I got this."

A very confused Zar regarded Owen for a moment, then stepped back. Owen looked up at Kalphog and says, "Let me fight him."

The Kull looked as confused as Zar. "What?"

"Your deaf, blind, and dumb kinsman that could best me in a fight. Prove you do not lie, and let me face him."

Kalphog was completely shocked, and he managed to say, "…it was simply an express—"

Waving his hand to silence him, Owen felt his temper taking hold of his better judgment, and almost against his will, he amended, "No, not him. That would be too easy."

Kalphog's jaw dropped even lower as Owen said, "I want to fight the strongest Urgal in the Imperial army. If you refuse this request, you concede we are the better warriors."

A pull on his arm was accompanied by TJ's voice hissing, "What in god's name are you _doing?_ Are you crazy?!"

Without warning, a mirthful laugh boomed from Kalphog, and he was forced to sit on the ground due to the intensity of his peals of amusement. Wiping a tear from his eye, he shrugged, "Well, if it is your wish to die, who am I to deny you?"

He turned and shouted a few words in a grating tongue. Owen winced; it sounded as if the horned being was gurgling stones. A few replies sounded, and out of the crowd of soldiers emerged three jostling Urgals. They yelled and argued amongst themselves for a few moments, but the tallest one eventually brushed the other two aside and walked up to Kalphog. Standing over six feet tall, the creature had large, spiraling horns, thickly muscled limbs, and a confident stride. The Urgal dropped to his knee and bowed his head, murmuring something softly to the gargantuan Rider before rising and approached Owen.

Kalphog turned his glowing palm towards them and intoned in the Ancient language, causing patches of grass in a large circle around them to crumble away into dust, forming a perfect dirt ellipse in the green field.

Zar cleared his throat and called, "Alright Owen, that's enough. This isn't a good idea! Please, back out now while you still can."

Owen ignored him. A human soldier walked up to Owen and unbelted his sword, placing it in Owen's open hand. The man shook his head sadly and walked out of the circle. With a deep breath, Owen drew the sword and threw the sheath aside. The weapon felt odd and unfamiliar in his hands. He tentatively gripped the leather hilt with both hands and looked up when he heard the ringing, metallic noise of the Urgal unsheathing his own blade.

The crowd of onlookers gathered closer, toeing the line of the circle as Owen and the Urgal walked towards each other. They paused when they were only separated by a few short feet. Kalphog stood and shouted, "No lethal blows may be dealt, but all other methods of combat are allowed. The victor is the one who forces submission from their opponent, whether it is in the form of a shout or unconsciousness."

_What am I doing?_ Owen thought, looking down at the silvery blade in his hands. _I don't have a clue how to use this!_ He resisted the urge to throw it away in a panic. Casting his eyes about, he caught the gaze of his three teammates. They all looked concerned and worried about him, just like always. Ever since he joined their team, they had treated him like a part of their family, an experience he had never really ever had. Without fail, they had always supported and cared for him, and he knew he could never truly repay them for it. A slight smile touched his lips, and he realized, _I know exactly what I'm doing._

"Owen! Are you listening to me?"

With a blink, Owen questioned, "What?"

Kalphog growled, irritated. "I said, prepare yourself. You go on my command."

He nodded, and turned to his opponent. Tightening his fingers around the hilt of the sword, Owen brought the weapon up in front of his face, perpendicular to the ground. He felt a predatory grin split his face as his heartbeat sped up and adrenaline began to saturate his bloodstream. The Urgal faltered at this, confused.

"_Fight!_"

With a cry, Owen raised the sword over his head and charged the Urgal. Two steps carried him close enough to swing at the Urgal's arm, but halfway through the stroke the Urgal whipped out his own weapon. The impact jarred the sword from Owen's grasp, and the reflective steel landed softly in the grass. Before Owen could pick it back up, the Urgal grabbed him by the shirt and held him upright. Laughing, it swiped its sword at his neck. Immobilized, Owen could do nothing but watch the blade come closer and closer to decapitating him.

"Letta!" barked Kalphog, and the Urgal's dark blade halted instantly, just inches from Owen's neck. The Urgal swallowed and nodded at Kalphog, and then tossed Owen violently to the ground.

Owen grunted as he landed on his back. "Nice try, _human_," the Urgal said mockingly, using the word as an insult, before walking away.

_No!_ Owen screamed mentally. _I…failed._ He slammed his fist on the ground in fury. What was he thinking? He didn't have a chance. Why did he even bother to try?

Turning his head to the side, he saw the glint of his sword permeated the forest of grass. From that position, each stalk seemed massive, rising far into the sky. They reached over and around his weapon, seeking to envelop it and bury it, to hide its true glory and potential beneath a sea of dull green. Yet the sword refused; the blade sliced the grasping tendrils and shone brighter than anything else within hundreds of inches. Facing the entire horde of enemies that was the field, the singular sword managed to persevere against all odds.

Involuntarily, his arm reached for it. His fingers curled around it. His legs brought them back to their feet. His mouth uttered, "Stop."

The Urgal paused and cocked his head. Slowly, he turned to face Owen.

_Failure was never an option_. "The rules. They said the winner is the one who forces submission."

Understanding filled the Urgal's heavy-browed eyes. Owen smirked and looked down at himself. "From what I can tell, I never submitted, and I'm still conscious. We're not done here."

The Urgal snarled and looked to Kalphog, who was eyeing Owen strangely. The Rider affirmed, "The human is right. This battle is not over."

Stepping back into the ring, the Urgal twirled his sword in loping, brutal circles as he advanced to the middle. Once he got close enough that only Owen could hear him, he whispered, "I will not knock you into unconsciousness human, know that. You will have to verbally submit to end the torture I am about to inflict upon you."

All Owen did was smile. But in his head, his mind was racing. _Okay, direct approach won't work. I need another solution…_

"Fight!"

He was just barely able to swing up his sword in time to deflect a powerful blow which shook his entire body. Groaning and stumbling back, Owen saw the Urgal grin with pleasure and step forward to slice him open. Leaping back out of the way of the savage, overhand swing, Owen realized, _I'm small!_ He poked his sword out at the Urgal, thinking, _That's my advantage! I'm smaller than him, quicker than him, and nimbler than him!_

His theory was put to the test when the Urgal bellowed and lashed out with a huge, horizontal, arcing swing. Owen's eyes widened and he dodged backwards, the violent slash slicing the air where he was just standing.

_He can't touch me as long as I don't fight him directly!_ Owen spun on his heels and sprinted towards the edge of the circle. Snarling, the Urgal followed in close pursuit.

As the meters of ground passed beneath his feet, he realized he didn't know anything about how to use a sword, and it was simply dead weight. He tossed it backwards over his shoulder, and the Urgal cried out in surprise as he avoided the unexpected projectile.

When he almost reached the edge, he spun back to face the Urgal barreling down on him. _Wait for it…_

Just before the giant creature could cleave him in two, Owen dove forward and rolled between his legs. The Urgal's blade descended and lodged itself deep within the damp earth. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw where Owen went, but he turned back to try and extract the weapon.

Taking advantage of this, Owen dashed forward, jumping up to grab the Urgal's horns and planting his feet squarely on the Urgal's lower back. With a massive heave, Owen used the leverage to tip the Urgal backwards. As the creature toppled back, Owen dropped off to the ground and rolled out of the way.

Owen leapt to his feet as a great _thud_ indicated the Urgal's fall. A shout escaped his lips, and Owen jumped onto the Urgal, driving his elbow deep into the Urgal's stomach. Swinging his legs around, Owen straddled the Urgal and let loose with a flurry of ferocious blows. The Urgal struggled to defend his head with his arms, since Owen's fast fists found each and every gap.

The bones of the Urgal's face began to give under his relentless barrage. The creature's nose snapped sideways, and his cheekbones cracked. In the voice of one experiencing excruciating agony, the Urgal cried, "I submit! I sub—"

A vicious right hook elicited a sharp pop from the Urgal's jaw, and it dangled unhinged from his face, slurring his speech into gibberish. Owen jabbed his left fingers directly into the Urgal's eye, and the Urgal let loose a gurgling scream.

Owen's vision was tinted red, and he could hear the blood rushing in his veins. A familiarly cruel laugh filled his ears. _Good for nothing. Useless. No one cares about you. Your mother didn't even want you. You're lucky I keep you fed, you hopeless, ungrateful _weakling.

With an animal howl, Owen forced his forearm into the Urgal's throat and leaned down, hard. The creature choked and gasped for breath, clawing and striking Owen's body, yet Owen barely felt the tearing or bruising of his flesh. Gridding his teeth, he pushed harder, and he began to feel the blows soften before disappearing altogether.

Suddenly, a huge hand grasped his back and yanked him off the Urgal, casting him on the ground a few meters away. Kalphog stood over him angrily, and growled, "He had better not be dead, human."

Kalphog gestured towards the Urgal on the ground, and another ran up and checked his pulse. It took a moment, but he looked up and nodded. Kalphog clenched his jaw.

Turning back to Owen, he said slowly, "Then, it seems…we have a victor."

Owen stood up, wincing, and looked into Kalphog's eyes. They were angry and flinty, but beneath that—so faint it was hard to tell if it was truly there—lay a single fleck of admiration.

The gathered crowd erupted into cheers, and TJ ran up to embrace him. Zar jogged over and yelled, "Owen, that was _amazing!_ Crazy, yes, but still!"

Owen cracked a small smile at his friends, and then walked over to pull his sword from the ground. Wiping it off and sheathing it, he located the weapon's owner and walked over to him. "I believe this is yours."

The soldier laughed and shook his head, replying, "After that display? I would be far more honored if you kept it."

Even though Owen tried to refuse, the soldier insisted, and Owen eventually strapped it to his belt. The group of people parted and a small posse approached Owen, his three companions and the two Riders.

Eragon and Arya walked up side by side, and to their left strode a tall, black woman garbed in an expensive gown. She was clearly of great importance, and she walked with poise and dignity. Yet the three others quickly faded into the background as he laid eyes on the fourth member.

Hers was a harsh beauty, all sharp angles and hard planes. The boyish clothing did little to hide her thin, feminine form. She had a beautiful, glowing star emblazoned on her forehead, and her lavender irises seemed to stare deep into his very essence, into his soul itself.

When she saw him, she seemed to falter ever so slightly. His heart skipped a beat, and he became very conscious of his shredded cloths and damaged body.

The small group reached them, and before anyone could say a word, the woman walked up to him. Stopping just in front of his face, she regarded him strangely, her sparking gaze analyzing every aspect of his being. Before he could help himself, he whispered, "You have beautiful eyes."

_What?_ Owen blinked a couple times and frowned. _What's wrong with me?_ She simply lifted her eyebrows and replied just as quietly, "I did not choose them." Then her eyes softened and she amended, "But thank you, regardless."

A hushed, angry discussion drew Owen's attention, and he saw the woman who had to be Nasuada arguing with Eragon and Arya.

"They look _exactly_ like the ones who attacked us! How could they possibly be trusted?" Nasuada demanded.

At that, the woman with the shining brow spoke up without taking her eyes off of Owen. "They can be trusted."

Surprised, Nasuada asked, "How can you be so sure, Elva?"

Elva turned around and smiled, "Nasuada, I would sense their negative intentions if they had any. For whatever reason, they do not mean us harm."

Nasuada relaxed slightly, saying, "Ah, alright. So they can help us in this fight against the enemy."

"Actually," Zar began, "I don't—"

Owen silenced him by stepping between him and the Queen. "Queen Nasuada? May we have a moment to discuss something?"

"Of course," she answered.

Thanking her, Owen gathered TJ, Aileen and Zar into a tight huddle. "Alright guys, listen up. We are in the middle of a strange world, filled with foreign people, nations, and creatures. We're all we've got from Earth. So that means we have to stick together. Look Zar, I know you feel that fighting against our own nation is wrong, and normally I'd agree with you. But this battle isn't about what we feel comfortable doing, or what we would prefer to do, it's about doing what's ethically right, no matter the difficulty or the cost. Without our help, this world will fall. We _can't_ let that happen. Will I regret killing a fellow soldier? Yes, probably for the rest of my life. But that isn't enough to stop me from doing so, if that action will protect the thousands of defenseless innocents in this land. But I won't take this stand alone; are you with me?"

His friends stared at him. TJ whispered, "Owen, that has got to be the longest thing you have ever said to me." Clapping him on the shoulder, he laughed, "I'm in."

Aileen sighed and said, "You're right, Owen. I'm with you."

The three turned to Zar who refused to meet their eyes. Aileen asked softly, "Zar? We won't—no, we can't—do this without you…"

A strangled groan slipped out from between Zar's clenched teeth as he buried his face in his hands. His taut muscles quivered in his arms, and veins stood out like wires in his neck. With a deep breath, he looked up, his eyes sad. "I don't like it…but we're a team." He put his hand into the center of their circle. Owen saw TJ and Aileen's eyes light up, and they stacked their hands on top of Zar's. "Owen?"

He placed his palm on the three others, and solemnly stated, "We do this together."

"Together," they all agreed.

Zar froze, his eyes flying wide open. "Wait a minute…" He spun around and ran to Nasuada, asking, "Thalamir! Thalamir brought us here, right? Where is he? He can send us home!"

Elva simply stated, "He's dead."

Zar's face fell, and she explained, "I felt his death as the portal opened. The spell was too great, and the energies coursing through him ended his life."

"What?" cried Nasuada. "How will we ever close the entrance into our world now?"

A voice spoke in their minds, surprising all. _I am not nearly strong enough to close it now, but if one were to cast my essence into it, it would destruct._

Elva and Nasuada's faces were transfixed in dual expressions of shock and confusion. "…Thalamir?"

A mental laugh echoed in their heads, devoid of any happiness. _Your pocket, Nasuada._

A moment later, Nasuada's shaking hand drew out a magnificent piece of jewelry. She stared at it in wonder, before her countenance devolved into one of livid fury. She cast it on the ground and raised her foot to smash it.

_Wait! No, please! Just…listen to me, I beg you. For the sake of Alagaësia._

Nasuada hesitated, and Eragon scooped up the necklace. _Thalamir, your consciousness is…in this necklace? Separated from your body?_ Eragon projected.

_Yes,_ he answered, _it was a safeguard in case of my death._

_How did you manage to—_

"Before anything more is discussed," Nasuada said, her rage starting to return, "you have much to answer for, Thalamir."

A wave of profound, heart-wrenching sadness swept over everyone, squishing any joyful thoughts and plunging them all into despair. _There is nothing I could ever say that could express my shame…when I did what I did, I had no idea or intention for something like this to happen. My only goal was the betterment of Alagaësia, yet in that I failed miserably. That is why I offer this plan to amend my error…the Alagaësian side of the gate is a war zone. There would be no conceivable way for anyone to reach it. However, the other side is not nearly as guarded. I propose this…I send one person back to Earth using a weaker version of my spell, and they would navigate to Earth's side of the portal and cast in this necklace._

"That's absurd! Not a single Alagaësian knows Earth well enough to accomplish something like that!" TJ protested.

_I did offer that course of action to them, Tolbert Josaphat._ Owen sucked in a breath as he realized what Thalamir meant.

"Then in that case," Zar said, "I'm afraid we'll have to turn you down. We're a team; if only one of us can go, then none of us can go."

_This could save lives! It could end this war!_ Thalamir argued, but Zar was still shaking his head. "No," Zar repeated, "I'm sorry, but we can't."

Zar's head was turned to face Aileen as she placed her hands on his face. She stared at him forlornly, and he froze, his entire body going rigid. "No…" he whispered. A single fought free of Zar's brown eye and jumped to the ground, capturing and refracting the fading sunlight into beautiful rainbows before it was shattered, striking the ground and bursting apart into nothingness.

! #$%^&*()_+! #$%&*()_+! #$%^&*()_+!#$%^&*()_+

Aileen hated to see him this way, and hated even more that it was her fault. _It has to be done,_ she thought, but it did little to reassure her. She held Zar's face tighter as his eyes squeezed shut. "Zar…" she sighed. "I have to do this."

He looked at her with his swirling mahogany gaze filled with hurt anger. "No. No, you _don't_ have to do this. But you always do! Do you have some sort of death wish, Aileen?! No one is making you do this, but you still—"

Covering his mouth with her hand, she said, "I know you don't understand why I need to do this, but believe me, I do. I couldn't turn away from this even if I wanted to. You can't protect me from myself or my own nature. I still love you, Zar, but you have to let me go do this."

"But…we're a team…" he said weakly. Her smile didn't match up with the tears swimming in her eyes. "We still are a team," she responded, "but we're just splitting up…temporarily. I'll be back."

"Don't lie to me," Zar said, "You can't possibly know that. This'll be dangerous."

"I know; I'll be careful," she smiled. Zar laughed and sobbed at once, and wiped is hand down his face. "That's a first…"

Zar stood like that for almost a minute, staring at her, before he breathed, "You're really going to do this?"

When she nodded he swore once under his breath and turned away. Aileen waited, but Zar refused to look at her. Sniffing and wiping away her tears, she turned to Eragon and held out her hand. He gave her Thalamir's necklace without a word.

Thalamir's voice instructed, _You must think of a place on Earth that you have been to before, and I will use the memory to give the spell direction. The portal we are trying to close is in what I believe to be your nation's capital, so think of somewhere close to that location._

Aileen thought it over for a moment. _I've never been to D.C., but I _have _been to my father's house near New York City._ Fixing the memory of the open corn field firmly in her mind, she let Thalamir know she was ready.

_Wait,_ Thalamir thought. _Nasuada, I will not defy your orders again. This will only be done with your blessing._

Nasuada asked stiffly, "Is it safe?"

_Yes…but, as we have all seen, I have been wrong before._

"Then how can you ask me to condone this, Thalamir? And how do I know this isn't simply a way for you to escape to another world in order to avoid punishment for your actions?" Nasuada demanded.

_Nasuada! This is my redemption; I swear it on all that I hold dear. And as to how I can ask you to condone it, the reason is simply this: it is our only chance. The portal _cannot_ be closed from this side without a great loss of life. For the sake of Alagaësia, you must let this happen._

The muscles of Nasuada's jaw bunched up as she glared at the amulet in Aileen's hands. After a moment, she said, "Very well. Do not fail me again, Thalamir."

_Never again, milady. And for what it's worth…I am so sorry._

Her harsh stare softened slightly, and she murmured, "Apology accepted."

_Warn everyone to clear the area,_ Thalamir told Eragon, who did as he instructed. The small circle that Aileen stood in rapidly expanded as everyone backed away from her.

A soft breeze triggered a ripple of goose bumps on her arms, and her breath hitched at the fluttering of butterflies in her stomach. She happened to see Zar standing away from her with everyone else, and her heart crumpled. _How can I do this to him? To _us?

_Because it's the right thing to do, and you know that, _Thalamir answered her. _Do not let yourself be clouded by selfishness._

Swallowing, she nodded and held up the necklace containing his consciousness. The deep violet amethyst snatched the fading sunbeams and cast them back out in a tinted guise, its silver frame sparkling and twinkling. _Do it now._

Aileen felt Thalamir's mind leave her own. Minutes ticked by. Soldiers shuffled nervously. A bead of sweat slid down Aileen's neck.

Just when Aileen was about to ask what was taking so long, a single point of blue energy sparked into being right in front of her. Startled, she jumped back, momentarily distracted.

_Focus! _Thalamir roared in her head as the circle fizzled in and out of view. She could sense the immense amount of concentration and willpower it took to deliver the message, and Aileen quickly re-fixed the image of her father's home in her mind.

Solidifying once more, the portal began to swell until it was over six feet tall. As it grew, Aileen began to feel the same alluring pull of the gateway whispering to her, telling her how pleasant it would be to sink deep into its azure embrace. This time, however, Aileen surrendered to it, and slowly pressed her free arm in. The grip of the portal seized her immediately, its grasp cool and strong.

Before she could be enveloped completely, a voice cried out her name and someone clutched her other arm, heaving desperately against the bridge. Gasping at the sudden resistance, she swung her head away from the portal to see Zar's face inches from her own. TJ and Owen were in pursuit, waving their arms and yelling in panic.

"Zar?" Aileen asked, her heart pounding. The evening light made his soothing chocolate gaze even softer, and his tan skin glow like heated bronze.

"I'm sorry, Aileen…I love you, and please come back to me," he said, squeezing her forearm with all his strength, frantically trying to keep her here.

"I—" she started, but the entryway surged and yanked her in, cutting off her words.

In the portal, there was no sound, no gravity, and no smell; there was only a shifty, murky indigo with no beginning and no end, stretching out in all directions infinitely. Aileen couldn't breathe. The unnatural surroundings seemed to press in on her, squeezing her chest. She swung her arms, kicked her legs, tried to scream, but it was relentless and without sympathy; it would not release her. The moment she thought she couldn't take it anymore, it all vanished, and she found herself lying in a smoky crater in a field of corn. The tall green stalks rose up around her, and all she could see was a dark night sky.

"…love you too," Aileen finished. Then the tears came. She curled up into a ball and sobbed with abandon, crying out for the one person she needed so badly…but could not have.

! #$%^&*()_+! #$%^&*()_+! #$%^&*()_+! #$%^&*()_+

Eragon stared at the tall foreigner slumped over in the grass, and his heart swelled with pity. TJ and Owen knelt by his side, murmuring words of comfort.

He knew the woman, Aileen, and Zar were very close, and Eragon could only imagine how awful it must feel to lose her. For a moment, he envisioned Arya passing through the bridge, and his heart nearly stopped as tendrils of fear clutched it.

Shaking his head, Eragon forced Zar out of his mind; there were more pressing matters to attend to. Turning to Nasuada, Eragon said, "Arya and I must travel to the Beor Mountains to request the assistance of the dwarves. The Empire cannot fight this battle on its own; our enemies are far too strong."

"That's a good idea," Nasuada admitted, "but I need your help with something else before you go."

Eragon's left eyebrow crept higher as he asked, "With what?"

With a sigh, Nasuada looked out across the ragged assembly of soldiers. They were few in number, and both battered and beaten. Many were critically injured, and unable to fight. A thick aura of sadness and depression permeated the group, the faces of the troops characterized by glazed eyes and unsmiling mouths. "As you can tell, the morale is very low. If forced to fight another battle, especially against these powerful enemies, they will not last long. Only a strong commander could give them strength, but my general, Octavius Swiftsword, and his lieutenants were all killed. I cannot simply appoint anyone to his place; it must be someone I trust, someone who has proved their worth, someone who is courageous, cunning and dependable. The way I see it, there is only one person in all of Alagaësia that can lead this army."

A creeping suspicion snuck into Eragon's thoughts. _She can't mean…but he's…_

Before Eragon could ask, Nasuada finished, "Eragon, we need Roran Stronghammer."

! #$%^&*()_+! #$%^&*()_+! #$%^&*()_+! #$%^&*()_+

Hey guys, sorry for the wait. Too much has happened for me to get into it all, but I'll touch on a few things so you know I'm not just slacking. I finished my internship and now I've began an engineering course with Hopkins, which is very fast-paced and challenging. I usually have a lot of work and studying to do for that, which eats into the amount of time I have left for writing.

Also, in my life it's just been one thing after another, crisis after crisis. The actual events themselves (my uncle getting arrested, my brother falling out of a tree on his neck, my grandfather's cancer getting worse, my friend attempting suicide, and more…) as well as the thinking and worrying that accompany them have made it very difficult to sit down and write this story.

Lastly, and I know this may sound dumb to you, but I've…I've been having romantic issues. It's a really long, complicated story that spans over three years, but basically I met this girl at the beginning of my high school career and we progressed from friends, to good friends, to great friends, to being in a relationship. However, you should also know my parents don't want me to date. Thus, they found out, and my god, a shitstorm of epic proportions was unleashed. Over the past two years we've barely spoken, and it's been awful…she was the one person in my life that I could talk to about anything. I couldn't talk to my other friends about my aunt's death or my mother's illness, and I couldn't talk to my parents about problems I was having with friends of mine…but I could talk to her about all of those, and it helped immensely (honestly, I think if I hadn't found her I would've gone completely and utterly insane). It was the worst feeling in the world to have something bad happen in my life again and to instinctively reach out for the one person who could make things better, and to remember that they're no longer there. Anyways, for a number of reasons we decided to re-start a friendship this summer, and intended to keep things "just friends." I should've known better, and we ended up falling head over heels for each other all over again. Before I asked her to be my girlfriend, however, I decided to do things right this time. I sat my parents down and asked them if I could date her. The discussion was lengthy and heated, filled with a lot of yelling, and ultimately ended with a definite "no." Once again, I'm gonna have to push her away, and its gonna be horribly painful for both of us…so that's been bothering me too, and not really allowing me to write.

Anyways, don't hate me, but I can't say I'll be any faster on the next update…I'm sorry. Its just really hectic right now...anyways, leave some reviews to tell me what you thought of this chapter, and I'll see you all next time. Thanks for reading.


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